


Irreversible

by SandfireKat



Category: Deception (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, Drama, Family, Friendship, Grief, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mourning, No Actual Character Death, Spin-off of Episode Eight, Tragedy, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-05-03 21:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 115,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: They were cardinal rules. Don't lose control. Don't slip up. Don't make a mistake, and if you did, you'd better fix it, and fast. Jonathan and Cameron had been taught this; both of them had had it ingrained in their memory. Etched, and permanent, and ever-present.But Jonathan couldn't fix this mistake in time. It was too late. Cameron suffocated. He was gone. He'd lost his brother. And now he was going to stop at nothing to get his revenge on the woman who had officially taken everything from him, unaware of anything else. Unaware that this was just another mistake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first effort at a Deception fic! The selection was so itty bitty, and I'm always one for angst, so I figured I may as well give it a go...  
> I actually have a lot of ideas for this story, and I could take it a lot of places, but I wasn't too sure on the reception it'd get. So! I kind of made it so that it could be a one-shot with a kind-of-open-ending, just on the off-chance I was talking to a brick wall? <3 The summary kind of hints at the rest of the story, though, for now, just in case there was enough of a drive to keep at it! (If I do continue it I'll probably have to tweak the summary and tags a little bit).  
> So, I hope you all like it! I tried my darndest to clear out any typos and edit it to make it pretty decent, but I always seem to overlook a few in the process. If there's any I can fix, along with anything else in the story that might need changing, I'd sure be glad to do it!

When you're a magician, you have to be in control. This isn't a question, or a preference, or an option. You have to be. It's a fact. Standing on the stage, with all eyes on you, you have to know everything. There is no room for error; you can't leave any detail unnoticed, no box unchecked. Every single movement, every spoken word, is careful, and thought-out, serving a purpose. Nothing is accidental, because you were not  _allowed_  to have accidents. If something started to go wrong – if you lost this all-important aspect of control – then it was up to you to fix it before to it was too late. To change on the dime and make it so that your slip-up wasn't perceived by the those who are watching.

Magicians are meant not only to do the impossible, but to make this impossible appear easy.

You have to know every possible outcome, and every minute detail of your trick.

You have to know what to do when something goes wrong, so you can make sure it does not, before it gets to be too late.

You have to be perfect.

You have to, you have to, you have to.

Jonathan had been trying. The entire time, he'd been trying, because that was the only reason he'd been brought here in the first place. This wasn't exactly a magic trick, but, thanks to the relentless teachings over the years, the endless repetitions snapped at every hesitation or mistake, these rules kept running through his mind. They still applied. Their plan was falling through— quickly unraveling like a performance gone wrong. In response, like any magician would, he tried anything he could to save it before it could come crumbling down.

They hadn't been able to stop the heist before things had descended into chaos, and they had lost track of Henri. So he'd refused to leave unless he had the diamond in his hands— unless he knew there was no possible way that they'd failed, at least in that aspect. When he'd sprinted to the vault just in time to see Henri lifting the diamond from its safe, Mike and the other officers strewn like corpses around him, he'd delivered a hefty punch the very second the thief began to turn, to knock him to the floor. The thief had started to try and push himself back up to his feet, as if to attack and further complicate things, but Jonathan had refused to let it get any farther— he'd kicked him in the face, as hard as he could manage, and he'd knocked him out cold.

He'd gotten the diamond back— he'd thought he'd saved the mistake before it could become permanent. But he'd been wrong, upon turning around. Complication after complication ensued, much too quickly to counteract. The mystery woman – the woman that had ruined his life, that was the mastermind behind all of this, that had stolen his brother – had been there. Problem. She'd been aiming a gun at his head. Error. She'd taken his earpiece, severing his contact with Kay. Oversight. She'd flipped the tables— asked him to join her. Unexpected. She'd demanded the diamond, with that gun level to his neck. Unplanned. She'd started the timer of two minutes, leaving him stranded with the task of dragging everyone out of the vault before it could lock and begin to suck away all the oxygen in the room. Miscalculation.

None of this, they'd planned for.

But Jonathan Black was a professional. A damn good one. So he did whatever he could to regain control.

He'd cut off his tracker and slipped it into the bag that held the diamond, knowing that Kay would immediately give chase. She'd gone after Henri, but he was here in the vault; she would change gears fast. She would think he'd made a run for it – they hadn't known each other for long but she truly was so supportive of him that way – and she would run after the woman. Though she didn't trust him a single inch, he'd done this trusting her to fix that half of their situation. To stop the woman before she could get far, and to find out where Cameron was. And from there, he'd just done the only thing he could do: he'd moved as fast as humanly possible to try and pull every person out of that vault before it was too late.

There wasn't a trick for that. There wasn't a clever way through that problem. He just had to do it.

So he'd tried. He'd made a dive for Mike first, knowing how much he meant to Dina. In the moment, distracted completely by the task at hand and the seconds ticking down, the thought hadn't come drenched in resentment, or bitterness, it had just come. He'd grabbed him underneath the shoulders and grimaced against the effort it took to drag him along. Thankfully, he'd been nearest to the door. Once he'd finished dragging him far enough away, Jonathan had whirled around and stumbled back for the next FBI agent. He'd ignored the burning in his arms, and the fatigue setting into his muscles, both of which only escalated with every person he lugged out. He'd continued to race, despite his gasping and wincing. He'd pushed himself as hard as he could, to make that time window.

But he hadn't. Alarm and frantic disappointment had gripped him when the vault started to close. When he'd rushed to stop it but was too late. When the mistake had started to cement, as it sealed shut. Still, he'd tried. As if the cement was still wet and there was still a way to change it. He'd tugged at the door, he'd put in any keycode he could think of, seeing Henri beginning to panic on the other side. He'd tried to keep his mind clear, his head steady, as he called out to him.

That was another rule. As a magician, you could never panic. Lose yourself. The second you did, it was all over. No matter what happened, even if you had no control whatsoever, you had to act as if you did. You had to keep thinking, keep working.

The others had rushed in. He'd tried to explain. "The vault sucked the air out, I couldn't save him!" He wasn't one of them, but he was still a person. Their original plan had excluded casualties— had ensured everyone's safety, guilty or not.

Dina had understood this. "With the security systems down, they can't open the door," she'd said, her expression nervous.

"I can't just let him die!" Henri had begun to gasp and choke. A hand had flown up to claw at his chest, like it was burning. Jonathan fought to keep calm despite this and think. There was always another way to take— another way out. Cameron always used to say that, as optimistic as he was. Jonathan had always been slightly irritated at the rosy outlook, not unlike many of the things his brother would chirp, but right then he'd found himself wishing he'd been onto something. That a means of rescue would pop up, out of the blue. Some miracle.

Gunter's expression had been hard and icy as he'd just glared at the man across the threshold. "That bastard Henri deserves to die," he'd growled, and Jonathan had only started to try harder. The principal was the same— the focus was the same— save everything you can, because it was your job to make sure things went according to the plan you'd laid out. Jonathan had laid out this plan, he had been the director. Villain or not, he had to—

"It's not Henri!" Kay had yelled, rushing into the room without warning.

"What?" Gunter and Jonathan had asked this at the same time. Jonathan had looked back to her briefly upon her entrance, seeing the look that was on her face. The shock, the fear, the sorrow. His stomach had already started to drop when he'd turned back to the glass. His mind had already started to rush this way and that, with the prospect of another thing gone wrong, another thing to try and solve, or act against. He'd turned to see Henri bracing himself with both hands against the door, leaning like it was taking effort just to stand upright. He'd been staring right at him with a cringe, just waiting for him to turn back around.

A horrible, twisted kind of understanding had started to freeze itself over Jonathan's face.

Henri had straightened and reached up, to confirm what he'd already started to dread.

Cameron had pulled off the disguise.

It wasn't Henri standing on the other side of the glass…it was his brother.

Mistake. They'd made a mistake. He had made a mistake.

A mistake, a mistake, this was a mistake, a mistake, mistake mistake mistakemistakemistakemis—

Immediately, white-hot panic and fear swamped Jonathan, hitting hard like a punch the gut. His ears started to ring, his heart started to pound. Beside him, Dina immediately began to scream, terror choking her voice like weeds. "No!" she screeched, staring at Cameron with horror-flooded eyes. "No!"

But Jonathan hardly heard. The rest of it practically tuned out. Turned to fuzz and set to background noise. His blood was beginning to burn underneath his skin as he slammed himself against the door, already screaming. "Cam! Cameron!" he screeched. There was no more rational, methodical thought of fixing anything. It was just fear. The situation was out of his hands, wildly so. He was desperate now— he was scared. All he could do was slam on the door that wouldn't even begin to budge. He knew it wouldn't budge, he knew it couldn't be opened, but he also knew that his brother…he'd been looking for him this entire time, and here he was, less than a foot away, but separated by a thick barrier, and inside— inside, the room didn't have—

Cameron fell. He'd tried to stand, but his eyes had slowly lost their focus. His balance had trickled away, and he had gone from swaying to collapsing. His legs buckled underneath him, his eyes slid closed, he fell away from the door. Jonathan gasped, struggling to get even closer to the door so that he could still see him— see him hit the ground, see him fall completely still. He slammed against the vault again, panic around his throat like a chokehold. His voice was strangled when he screamed desperately. "Cameron!" It grated against his throat like nails on a chalkboard. Cameron didn't react. Jonathan's eyes were burning, his chest was constricting— his lungs were quickly being rendered useless, just like his brother's were.

"Cam!" he begged. Still, nothing. His panic only burned hotter, as did his eyes. " _Cam_!" His hands were hurting, he was ramming them so hard against the glass, begging for it to give. But he hardly noticed the pain. He was just staring down at his brother, limp on the ground now, and hitting harder. He needed to wake him up, he needed to get him to open his eyes!

Jordan was hovering anxiously over the panel next to the door. His voice was just as strained as everyone else's when he announced pointlessly what they all already knew. "We're locked out of the system!" Jonathan turned, rushing over to see it for himself— to make sure there was nothing they could do— nothing they could change. Without even realizing it, as he leaned over to see the screen and search it desperately, his hand went to grab tight hold of Jordan's shoulder. He didn't think of it. It might have been nothing. Or it might have been the most subconscious effort of comfort. To reach over and grab onto someone he'd gotten out of hard spots with, before. Who had helped come through, then.

If anyone could find a way out of this, it was their team, working together. And yet…

Gunter ran over as well. The ice in his demeanor had melted entirely. He was usually a stoic person, hardly showing too much emotion, unless it was anger. Now, his fear was written like a book, plain for anyone to see. Still, he was going a better job of keeping his head on straight than Jonathan was. "There's four hydraulic dials on the other side of the door!" he snapped, his voice tense. "We have to turn them off, and then turn the override wheel."

That was pointless, too. There was no 'we.' Not on the other side of the door. Even though Jonathan desperately wished that there was a 'we', there was only Cameron. And he was unconscious, already being deprived of oxygen. He flew back, absolutely terrified as he stared at his brother. He banged on the door, completely useless where he stood. "Cam!" he begged, screaming as loud as his throat would allow, to try and get him to even have the tiniest flicker of awareness. "Cam!"

"Everybody back," Kay interrupted.

"What!?" Jonathan whirled around, the very thought of stepping away making him stiffen. But she was taking a few steps back herself, and he stumbled away as he saw her get out her gun. She looked frightened and concerned. Worried, and already desperate enough to pull out this stop. He remembered her words from before, sharpened with just the tiniest bit of irritation.

'For the record, my relationship with Cameron is strictly professional.'

The look she wore now hinted otherwise.

"That won't work!" Gunter snapped.

But her retort was already prepared. "It's worth a try!" she snapped. "Get down!"

They all flinched away as she started to fire. Bullet after bullet hitting the glass and doing…nothing. When Jonathan straightened, his heart in his throat with some stupid hope that at least something had happened as a result, the vault didn't even have a scratch on it. It was built to withstand anything, and it was doing its job. It was keeping what was inside, inside. And it was keeping what was out, out. He didn't even waste a second to wallow in the failure before he was flying back for the door— back to his brother. He immediately gasped, his expression tightening in apprehension as he saw Cameron was awake again. The bullets had done one thing: they'd gotten him to open his eyes.

Jonathan hit the door, struggling to keep his voice from breaking as he kept screaming. "Come on Cam!" he begged, not even able to blink as he watched his brother slowly come back to his senses. Too slowly— he was moving too slowly, he didn't have the time, he needed to move now! The others all rushed forward as well once they realized, all fighting and struggling to see him. It was a mess of screaming, of begging and pleading. One shout melted into another, so much so that Jonathan could hardly make out what everyone was saying. He knew that Gunter was putting as much force as he could behind his slams against the door. That Dina's hand was holding fast to his shoulder, another subconscious thing that neither of them were recognizing. "Cameron! Cameron! Cameron!" All he could do was scream his name, as if that would do anything.

Cameron was slowly twisting on the ground, the simplest movement looking like it took an extreme amount of effort. The look on his face was disoriented and confused. Like he was seeing everything through a haze. Usually he was the opposite— he was quick, and sharp, and focused. That was why Dad had chosen him to be the star. Now, on the floor of the vault, he was anything but. But he was trying. Jonathan's heart tore as he kept screaming. Cameron was trying— like they had both been taught. To right a mistake before it could cement. To take his own advice of old and find a way out.

"That's it, come on!" Jonathan screamed as Cameron started to push himself up. "Cam! Cameron!" He couldn't find the strength to get back up. He was resorting to crawling, now. "Come on!" He was groggy from falling unconscious. He couldn't breathe, Jonathan had— before he'd known who he really was, he'd— he'd kicked— He hit the door harder. "Come on!" he screeched, almost angrily. He was losing control. He was going to lose his brother. He took in a deeper breath and tried to slow down. But his thoughts were everywhere, and fractured. 'Explain, I need to— I punched him, I kicked him, I— explain the dia— why didn't I drag him out why— he's going to die, he's dying, he's dying right in front of me, he—  _explain_!'

"Cam! Cam!" Cameron picked his head up just a little bit, and Jonathan prayed that that was a sign he was listening. "Turn the dials, then turn the wheel," Jonathan instructed, making a conscious effort to make his voice steadier. Cameron's bleary eyes landed on the door. Agonizingly slow, he was putting the pieces together. "That it, c'mon, Cam," he rushed, struggling to make it sound easy. Like the simplicity of the explanation would lend itself to the actual situation. "Cam! Turn the dial, then turn the wheel," he repeated.

Cameron ducked his head down low, grimacing deeply in pain. Everyone kept pushing, kept pleading. Knowing they could do nothing else. They watched as he started to drag himself towards the door, despite the fact that he was slowly suffocating. "Come on, Cam!" Jonathan screamed, practically flush against the door now, straining to try and be even closer. He was so close to his brother, yet he couldn't do anything for him. "Get up, Cam, get up!" he begged. His hands were stinging, but he kept ignoring it. He was there— he was there, and this was the best way he could show it. Like when they were kids— Cameron was always the first one to be shoved into some kind of trap, with the blind instruction to figure his way out. He'd hated it; he'd always panicked and cried. And Jonathan had always stayed faithfully there, letting him know he wasn't about to leave by making noise. He was making as much noise as he possibly could, now. Screaming, slamming, even kicking.

He was there. He was there for him. Cameron just had to get out.

"You can do it, Cameron, you can do it!" Jonathan kept yelling. Begging it to be the case. "Get up!"

He watched as Cameron got to the door. As he slowly reached up to try and drag himself onto his knees. He could barely even do that. The pressure in the room was dropping like a weight. He didn't have air. Jonathan tried to move so he could see his chest and see whether or not it was moving. Whether or not he was still able to breathe. It wasn't. His voice broke when he screamed next. "Cam!" It splintered into pieces, like glass shattering against the ground.

Fumbling, and moving like every effort took five times as much concentration, Cameron grabbed the first dial and gradually turned it. Jonathan's heart stopped as he heard it click into place. He was still yelling, pleading with Cam. He heard Dina scream out behind him. "Listen to Jonathan's voice!" she begged Cameron, and Jonathan's chest ripped in even more pain. "Come on!"

"Cam!" His brother's name was nothing more than a heartbroken cry. He watched in despair as Cameron kept trying with the dials, his movements getting slower and slower. He was winding down. He couldn't do this for much longer, and he wasn't even close to being done! "Cameron, get up!" he begged. "You can do this, Cam, don't give up now! You can do this! Turn the dials, turn the wheel!" He risked a glance at the PSI, his heart plummeting and his adrenaline racing at the number that was looking back at him. It was almost empty. He whirled back around, shaking his head fast. "Faster, Cameron, you have to go faster!" he screeched. "Come on! You can do it!"

One by one, he fumbled with the dials until all the valves were released. Jonathan stiffened, and hope started to leak into his voice as he saw Cameron trying to tug himself desperately for the wheel. "That's it! Cameron, turn the wheel!" he encouraged, the others shrieking praise and support mindlessly. Even Kay was yelling; she'd lost her composure ages ago. "Come on!" Jonathan yelled, watching as Cameron tried to worm his hands around the spokes and get a good enough grip. He didn't recognize the look on his face— he was losing it, Jonathan could see. He was loosening, he was going weak, his body was starting to shut down. Against himself, Cameron was losing consciousness again, even as he tried to work the only means of exit.

"Cam! Cam!" Jonathan wailed. His brother was pulling, but he couldn't find the strength. He was barely able to get up off of his knees. "Cameron, turn the wheel, come on!" He started to still more, he started to move less. Jonathan looked wildly back at the PSI, and he froze in absolute horror as the needle finally slammed down to hit zero. He looked back, his expression falling as he realized Cameron wasn't able to twist the wheel like he needed. He was still holding to it, but that was the limit of what he was able to do. Cold dread was like ice in the pit of his stomach, and Jonathan shook his head. "…No," he rasped, denial immediately being the first thing he landed on.

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut in another flinch. He tried. Like he had been taught to, just as Jonathan had, he tried. He tugged. But the wheel hardly gave. Only a tiny millimeter. Still, Jonathan refused to admit defeat— refused to let Cameron think defeat, because as soon as he did, it was all over. "That's it!" he encouraged weakly, like he always used to encourage his brother when he was forced into doing the tricks he didn't want to. "Come on. Cam." His voice was going desperate. Desolate. "Cameron!" The wheel inched just a little further.

But it wasn't enough.

Cameron's face slowly began to relax. That fuzziness started to crawl back. Jonathan's heart was stopping, his lungs were failing, his entire body was shaking. "Cam!" he screeched, his voice starting to grow hoarse from how much he was misusing it. But Cameron didn't react at all, this time. Jonathan watched in terror and shock as his brother went slack. As his head ducked forward into his elbow, and he went entirely limp.

No. No, no, no, no, this wasn't— it—

Jonathan's eyes were blurred over with tears. The only reason they didn't fall yet was because he wasn't blinking, in his panic. "Cameron!" he wailed. He could hit the glass— he could wake him up again, like before— there was still time, there was still— he could still get out, this wasn't— he couldn't be dead, he— they were supposed to— "Cameron!" His brother was unmoving, only holding onto the wheel still because of the way he had wormed his arms between the metal branchings. "Cameron, wake up!" This beg came out splintered as well, practically tearing up from his chest. He felt Dina hold tightly to his arm. Whether the clutch was for his sake, or for hers, didn't matter at all. Not right then. "Wake up, Cameron!" he kept screaming. But the seconds dragged by, and Cameron didn't rouse at all.

He couldn't breathe. Cameron couldn't breathe, but now Jonathan couldn't either. He could only yell and cry, panic beginning to cloud him entirely as his blows got more desperate, more senseless. He was throwing his entire body against the steel now, not really hearing or understanding the words he was screaming. He just felt the burning pain they created in his throat, how it stung almost as much as his eyes did. He could have been yelling gibberish, he could have been making complete sense. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Cameron wasn't moving. That he'd suffocated in there, and that no matter what Jonathan did, he wouldn't move.

"Cameron!" Dina wailed, tears rushing down her face now. It was all in her voice: the years of friendship and comradery. Of nights spent celebrating after shows, of afternoons working through a new trick, of holidays spent together every year, simply because they were a family, and that was what families did. This was all in her voice, rendering it absolutely heartbroken. Jordan was yelling something that sounded like a string of apologies, though Jonathan was too far gone to try and figure out what he was apologizing for. Gunter, unlike everyone else, had fallen silent. His expression was completely blank, his mouth hanging open like he wanted to yell too, but just couldn't manage it anymore. Instead, he was shell-shocked. Staring with a certain kind of absence that made it seem like he wasn't actually seeing anything.

"We still have time, there's still time!" Kay pressed, her voice cracking in panic. She looked at her watch, her head shaking fast. "We have— five minutes, if we can get him out in five minutes—"

"There's no way to get him out!" Jordan cried. "Everything's shut down! The only way out is from the other side!"

"There has to be another way!" Dina snapped, echoing what Cameron used to say constantly.

"There's not!" Jordan shouted. "That wheel is all he has— Cameron, Cameron, just turn the wheel! You were so close, Cameron! Wake up!"

"Cameron!" Dina cried, whirling back to him. "Cameron, get up! Please, Cameron!"

Jonathan was deaf to them. He couldn't listen, he couldn't even think— at least, he couldn't think clearly. It was nothing but a blur of pure fear, panic like hands clenching hard around his trachea. He just did whatever he could. He was a mess of screaming, of hitting, of kicking out. The seconds were dragging on— soon, they would layer into minutes. You couldn't go without air for that long, not even Cameron could. If he didn't wake up— if he didn't turn the wheel just a little bit more, to do the final stretch… "Cam!" Jonathan backed up just a little bit, knocking into Kay but completely oblivious to her stagger backwards. He just threw his foot out as hard as he could, kicking the lower half of the door hard enough to cause the shock of the impact to lance up his bones.

He did this again and again, ignoring the pain, the exhaustion. If he kicked here hard enough, maybe he could dislodge him, he could make Cameron fall, and the wheel would be turned the rest of the way. It was all he had. It was all he could do. He kept kicking, and every hard thud that ensued reminded him of the thud his shoe had made as he'd kicked Cameron to the ground. He'd punched him, and he'd— Cameron had tried to get up. Had he started to turn to him because he was going to say what was going on? Who he actually was? Had he been trying to recover and explain himself, before Jonathan kicked him? Before he knocked him unconscious?

This was his fault. This was all his fault. He'd been too preoccupied with the plan; he hadn't noticed anything else. He hadn't even thought of the possibility that Cameron would be here, but it made sense— it made so much sense, why hadn't he anticipated it? Why else would the mystery woman kidnap Cameron if not to force him into helping her? He'd been staring at him in the auction room— had he been trying to warn him, then? And Jonathan had been too slow— he'd left him for last in the vault on conscious choice, so he was the reason he was in there. He'd made so many mistakes— he'd lost the control he was supposed to keep ahold of.

He'd killed him.

Jonathan had killed his brother.

"Cameron!" He was sobbing now. Keening. The minutes were passing. Running their course. Gunter's shock had ebbed, and now there was nothing but grief on his face. Grief and acceptance that they had already failed. Jordan had gone over to the panel, to look for an alternative means of rescue, but he had long since just hung his head. His shoulders were curled forward, like he was in pain, and attempting to shield himself from further injury. Kay's eyes were flickering from Jonathan to the vault. The expression on her face was too many at once to discern. Dina just cried in silence. She kept her hand on Jonathan's arm, holding to his elbow as if that could possibly do anything.

It didn't.

Every minute, he got worse.

Every minute, he screamed louder— more franticly.

Every minute he shook more.

Every minute the tears in his eyes built even faster, until it was impossible to keep them from running down his cheeks.

" _Do you think it'll always be like this?" Cameron asked softly._

_Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading. His brother was standing at the window, staring out at the new city. They'd never been to this one before. Jonathan couldn't remember its name, at the moment. They all kind of blended together. "Like what?" he asked, his eyes flickering back down to the page he was on. "We're only here for three days." But he knew it probably wasn't what he was getting at. And, knowing it wasn't what he was getting at either, but wanting to mess with him a little bit, he added coyly: "And not to burst your bubble even more, but Dad'll be back with food in like seven minutes, so that's gonna change too."_

" _No," he protested. Jonathan looked up again at the way his voice sounded. This time he closed his book. Cameron was still looking outside. "I mean…is it always going to be…us going from place to place…never staying anywhere or…being able to talk to anyone, because they might find out about us? Always…practicing and never being able to do anything else?" Jonathan frowned. "I mean— it's fun. I like…the shows, and…they make Dad happy. It's just…" He was silent for what felt like forever, before he just repeated softer: "Do you think it'll always be like this?"_

_He set his book down. He drew his knees up to his chest, and a frown came over his face. "Well…I don't know," he managed eventually. Cameron looked back at him. He didn't seem satisfied at all. Jonathan sighed and tilted his head to the side a little bit. "Do you think that would be a bad thing?"_

_"Yes," Cameron blurted out at once. He stopped short, looking almost surprised with himself. Quickly, he tried to double back and correct the mistake. "No," he amended. Jonathan's eyebrows drew together. His brother sighed. "I don't know. In some ways…no, but…in some ways, I…"_

" _You're getting better at the tricks, Cam," he tried. Jonathan knew how much pressure Cameron put on himself— how much pressure he_ had  _to put on himself, because their dad forced it there. He knew how much his brother didn't want to be 'the star.' He didn't even have to tell him it was a problem; Jonathan knew his brother like the back of his hand. They both knew each other like that. So the reassurance came at once, half out of sheer habit. "Dad just said that you're perfect at the new one. You're not doing a single thing wrong." He shot him an encouraging grin. "I'm really prou—"_

" _I want to change your half more than I want to change mine," he blurted out again._

_Jonathan stopped short. He blinked a few times. "My half?"_

_His brother looked apologetic. Remorseful. "Do you ever…do you ever get sad that you're not allowed to…be in any of it?"_

_He tried to smile. It came out a little too pinched. "I…I am in it," he tried. "I'm right there with you, all the time. I told you that."_

" _You know that's not what I meant." Reluctantly, Jonathan shut up. He just waited for Cameron to keep going. "I mean…it's my name. Not yours. But you do just as much as I do. We're a team. Why can't people know that? Why can't your name be up there too?"_

" _You know why."_

" _Yeah, but that's not a good enough reason sometimes."_

" _But most of the time?"_

_Cameron weakened. After a moment, he pressed, as if he was almost scared of the answer: "Are you ever angry? At me?"_

" _Of course not," he said immediately._

" _But Dad?" Cameron reasoned._

_This answer came much slower. "It's not…important, Cam—"_

" _It is to me."_

_He closed his eyes. He counted to ten, taking in a slow breath. Then he stood, drafting a smile on his face as he pushed himself up. He walked over to Cameron and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Look. It really doesn't matter. Okay? I promise. And you want to know why it doesn't matter?" Cameron just stared at him with a heavy expression. One filled with apprehension and anxiety. The kind of expression he could only wear around Jonathan when they were alone, unless he wanted to get yelled at by their father. Jonathan's expression was soothing; the way it always was. "Because you're right…we are a team. So when people say how great you are, they mean me too. They just don't know it. I'm okay with that."_

_Jonathan leaned a little closer, a silent request for his brother to listen. To_ really _listen and understand what he meant. "And maybe things won't always be this way. Maybe they'll change. But you know something that won't change?" Cameron was silent. Jonathan just smiled wider. "We'll always be a team," he declared. "You and me. That'll never change. And that's all we need." Cameron began to crack into a smile._

_Relief made Jonathan's grin soften. "I don't need anyone to know my name," he announced. "Because you do. And you're all that's important. If you know my name…then I'll always be happy."_

"Cam!" Jonathan screeched. He hit the door, kicked it hard. Still nothing. There was still nothing. It was too late. He'd gone without air for too long. Kay had said they had five minutes, and those had to be up by now. And it was his fault, it was all his fault, and the last thing he'd done to his brother was punch him and kick him and abandon him in that room. He kept fighting, kept trying, kept screaming, but it was too late. Too late, too late, too late, too—

Jonathan threw himself one last time as hard as he could against the steel before his knees finally buckled. With one final scream, he sank down to the floor, his head ducking low to his chest as he started to break down. Dina rushed to crouch beside him, to put her arms around him, but it was no use. He just cried, his sobs senseless and violent. Wracking his body on the way out to make it sound like he was practically gagging. And he might have been. Because he certainly felt like he was going to be sick.

" _Cameron_!" he howled. He was gasping, hyperventilating, and hating himself because he could breathe, and his brother hadn't been able to.

Dina struggled to calm him down. The others were just staring, shell-shocked. "Jonathan, please," she begged, choking back on her own sobs. She rubbed his arms, to try and center him. "Jonathan, Jonathan, look at me," she begged. But he couldn't. "Jonathan, Jonathan, shhh, it's— it'll be—"

Without thinking, he shoved her off. The violent push away was his first gut impulse. Dina fell backwards, her streaming eyes rounding out in shock. If he was in his right mind, he would feel bad about it. But he wasn't. He shoved her away and, in the process, he slammed back into the door, this time on accident. He hit it hard; the back of his head making a heavy thud against it. He barely had time to recognize the pain, though, before there was another thud. Another thud on the other side of the door, that he only heard because he was so close.

For half a second, he was too shocked to move. His teary eyes flew huge, and his heart stuttered in his chest. But he heard Kay scream, and that was enough to snap him into motion. He flew to his feet, scrambling as he whirled for the window. Cameron had finally fallen. His arms had managed to stay looped inside the wheel, so when he fell, it moved its last few inches. "Back up, back up!" Jonathan croaked, flying for the door and opening it as fast as he could.

He tore it open and flew down. Cameron was on his side, and his eyes were closed. He was still unconscious. He was pale— there was a chilling blue tint around his lips. He wasn't breathing. Jonathan hit the ground hard, pain lancing up his knees. "Cameron!" he gasped, terror clenching hard around his heart. "Cameron, come on, come on!" Nothing. Jonathan pressed his ear down against his chest, listening for a heartbeat— for an inhale. He came up shaking his head hard. The others were pouring in after him, to cluster around Cameron tightly. "Nope— no, Cameron, no," Jonathan grumbled hard.

He got on his knees and put his hands together, leaning over his brother and beginning to deliver hard compressions to his chest. Cameron was putty underneath his hands. His eyes didn't even flicker at the pressure. His head only shifted just the tiniest bit, side to side with every push. Jonathan just shook his head faster and pushed harder. Kay was crouching at his other side, putting her fingers down against Cameron's neck to feel for a pulse. She had the rationale that Jonathan didn't. Despite everything, the only giveaway to her emotion was a tiny wavering hiding in the syllables of her voice. Mostly she was tense, direct, straight. Like she was with everything else.

"He went without oxygen for almost four minutes," she said, glancing at her watch again. "There's still a chance to get him back, but he's right on the brink. Keep doing those compressions. Dina! Call an ambulance, now!" Dina was already complying, her eyes wide as she whipped her phone out. She staggered away and began to dial, lifting it up to her ear as she never looked away from Cameron. Jonathan could hear her yelling out the information when the line was picked up, but he was more focused on his brother.

"C'mon, Cameron," he gasped. "28…29…30—"

He began to draw away, and immediately, Kay acted before he could, to hunch down and give him two breaths. She put her mouth over his and forced air down his trachea. And they went like that, keeping out of sheer desperation and fear. Jonathan gave thirty compressions, begging his brother between each push to just breathe and open his eyes again. Every time Kay blew air into him, Jonathan watched tensely, his heart not daring to beat as he waited to see whether or not this time it would work. But every time, disappointment punched him in the gut when it was unsuccessful. Cameron's lips stayed blue, his eyes stayed shut, his chest stayed frozen.

He pushed until he couldn't push anymore. Until his arms were gel, unable to deliver as hard of compressions. They'd already been exhausted from hitting the door; he was already running on empty. When it became clear that his efforts were weakening, Gunter nudged him away, gently so he wouldn't react as harshly as he'd had with Dina. Jonathan fell to the side heavily, catching himself against the floor. He looked at Cameron in despair, quickly moving to scramble up nearer to his head. "Come on, Cam!" His voice was completely ruined by now. It was more of a rasp.

Cameron was unresponsive, still. Gunter's compressions were harder than Jonathan's had been. So much so that, if anyone cared enough to think that far, there would have been a concern that he was going to break a rib. But if breaking a rib was what it took to drag Cameron back, it was just going to have to be the payment. As Kay blew air into Cameron's mouth again, Jonathan curled down, pressing his forehead against his brother's shoulder. Without the distraction of counting through his compressions, Jonathan was crying again, harder. Because now there was nothing left to do but face the fact that efforts were futile. That Cameron was gone.

His brother was gone.

At first, there was nothing but sorrow. Drowning, horrible sorrow that seemed to drag him down hundreds of feet— below water, or something just as suffocating. He could only sob and cry and beg Cam not to do this. Not to leave him— not to punish him this way. Jonathan had lost everything. He'd lost his pride, his freedom, his reputation…he couldn't bear losing his brother, too. He was all he had left. Now the world was deciding even that was too good for him. And maybe it was right, but Cameron didn't deserve to be the one to suffer.

At first, there was just pain. Hurt.

And then it mutated.

Slowly but surely, it did. With every shudder of Cameron's body, with every choked gasp Kay sucked in only to release into his brother's mouth, the emotion burning through his skin changed. It burned hotter, it hit harder. His breathing grew more labored, his eyes opened, but began to narrow. The hand that had found its way to hold tight to Cameron's arm curled in more, his fingers digging harder into his brother's skin. His jaw locked backwards as he slowly pulled away from him. His vision was ruined with tears; Cameron was nothing more than a blur of color. An unmoving blur. A dead one.

She'd done this.

She'd done everything.

She'd framed him and put him in jail. He'd stomached that. She'd taken his brother and held him captive. That had been harder to swallow, but he had, because he'd known that he would be able to get him back and get him back safe. She'd purposefully made it so that Cameron had the smallest of chances of the bodies in the vault to be pulled out. She'd refused to tell Jonathan when he asked where Cameron was, so he'd had no idea. She'd ensured the vault would shut on him. She'd made Jonathan responsible for this mistake, that was now much too cemented to be reversed.

She'd killed his brother.

This, he couldn't handle.

His grief mutated into searing rage and anger. He sat back from Cameron and scooted slowly away from his body, hardly even feeling the movement, he was growing so numb to everything else. He backed away from the rest of the group, eventually hitting against the frame of the vault door with a dull thud. His eyes stared unblinking on his brother. His hands curled into fists so tight, that his fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. The remorse melted off of his face, leaving only dead eyes and a harsh scowl.

He didn't see his brother lying there on the floor of the vault, anymore.

All he saw was red.

Kay sat back, feeling desperately for a pulse, and closing her eyes tightly when she still picked up nothing. She checked her watch again as Gunter continued to ram his hands down hard against Cameron's sternum. It had been over five minutes. After six minutes, brain damage usually set in. They'd started CPR before this mark, so his chances of staving it off for an extra minute or two were at least higher than if he hadn't gotten the door open. But still, he had gone without oxygen for too long. It didn't stop her from giving him breaths whenever thirty compressions were delivered, but the longer time stretched on, the tighter her chest grew.

This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to have saved Cameron before something like this happened to him. They were supposed to get him out of danger before it could present itself even more. They had failed in that effort, and now they were even failing to save him afterwards. There were still things she wasn't sure about. She didn't understand why he'd been here with the woman, or why he hadn't just run to them directly once he'd seen them in the auction room. She didn't know why he was in the vault in the first place. But those things didn't matter right now.

Right now, with every blow of air, with every attempt to get his heart beating again, all she was worried about was keeping him here. 'Excuse me. I prematurely 'Ta-Da'd.' She leaned down and blew more air into his mouth, closing her eyes so tightly it came across as more of a flinch. 'Cameron Black. FBI…Observer.' She pulled away and as Gunter started the cycle all over again, she reached out to slap at his face and yell, at the end of her rope and just not sure what else to do. "Cameron!" she yelled, her voice clenched. "Cameron!"

'Well, I couldn't have done it without my beautiful assistant.'

'Don't ever say that again.'

'Yeah, nah, sounded weird coming out.'

She didn't realize her eyes were watering until a small tear traced hot down the side of her face. She went rigid at once, her hand flying up to wipe it away. But before she could, there was a sudden burst of yelling, to slice her thoughts into nothing. She whirled around and rocketed up to her feet when she saw the team of paramedics rushing in. Seeing them, she could hardly fathom the relief that snatched her breath away. Dina was running to meet them and explaining everything. They were carrying with them the equipment they would need; they were laden with it. And they were already shouting at everyone to move.

She turned and stumbled back further into the vault. Dina rushed to stand with her, and Jordan backed out to side-step into the hall. Gunter stayed put where he was, refusing to give up for even a second on the compressions he was giving in time with a regular heartbeat. He had to be grabbed and encouraged off by a paramedic. But even then, as he slowly backed up to be with the two girls, his expression was empty. He stared at Cameron, before he looked down at his hands, like he was wondering what he was supposed to do with them now.

The paramedic team snapped into action at once. They assessed him quickly, moving his head so that it was tilted back, and his airway was ensured to stay open. Two of the paramedics started to work on getting him breathing again. A bag valve mask was brought out, and they were fast in setting the ventilator up to his mouth. One medical professional held it tightly in place while the other began to start rhythmically squeezing, to get the air pumped through the mask, down his throat, and into his lungs. Another team member opened his shirt and began to set him up to a defibrillator, connecting the electrodes to his chest and side.

Kay had to close her eyes when they delivered the shock. The very instant Cameron's body began to jerk and twitch viscerally in reaction to the surge, she found she couldn't stomach it. She'd seen plenty of things in her time as an FBI agent…dead bodies, victims who may have been better off dead…but this, she couldn't face. For the life of her, she couldn't watch this. Her friend. Someone who had at first only been a nuisance, but an unfortunately needed one. Someone who, for some stupid reason or another, she had softened towards. Someone she'd actually grown to like.

So she couldn't watch. Not this time.

The defibrillator went through its first shock. Nothing occurred as a result of it, and in the break of waiting to see if it would take effect, the paramedics went back to compressions and oxygen. They were doing everything they could. The defibrillator charged up again, humming until it was ready, and they pulled away when it delivered yet another wave of electricity. Again, Cameron only spasmed and fell still afterwards. Dina was watching through her fingers, her lips trembling. From out in the hall, Jordan had long since turned away, hunching against the wall like he was propping up a million pounds of weight. Still, Gunter just stared in shock and denial.

They went again. And again. And again. More oxygen, more compressions, more anything.

It was getting to be too late. Too dire. Too impossible.

But Cameron Black kind of  _did_  impossible.

It was so quiet, that at first, none of the others actually heard it. But the paramedics did, and they immediately drew away to make sure.

It was a tiny gasp, weak and grating against his throat on the way down. It was barely anything— hardly enough air to even begin to satisfy. But Cameron sucked in the breath on his own. It was weak, and it was shallow, but it was there. At the paramedics' reaction, Kay's head snapped back around, and Dina's hands went down to cover her mouth, instead of her eyes. Sure enough, Cameron's chest was stirring with the faintest trace of life again. Kay could hear him rasping from where she stood. It didn't sound good. But it was a sound. And she found a shocked and ecstatic laugh bubbling out of her as she too slapped a hand over her mouth. A fresh wave of tears burned her eyes, though she still tried her best not to let them fall.

"We got him, we got him," one of the paramedics blustered tensely. "Get him on the stretcher, we need to get him to the hospital,  _now_." And they leapt back into motion to do exactly that. One stayed to keep the ventilator on him, still pumping in air at the normal rhythm. The others worked around her, and transitioned Cameron to the gurney, strapping him in place so he wouldn't fall. They started to rush away, when one of them lingered and doubled back for those who had played the part of the terrified audience. "Only one of you can come in the ambulance," they rushed. "But the decision has to be quick, who's it going to be?"

Kay opened her mouth, but Dina beat her to it. "Jonathan should go," she sniffed, still crying. She wiped at her eyes, shaking her head as she looked towards the door. "Jonathan, you need to be with Ca—" She broke off before she could finish. Her eyes widened, and the sorrowful emotion that had been clogging her expression suddenly melted away in a flash. Like water evaporating on the spot. Her body locked in shock, instead, and Kay whirled around to follow her floored gaze. At first, she was just confused— she didn't see anything at all.

Until she realized that that was precisely the problem.

She whirled around, looking at every inch of the vault. And then she rushed out the door, into the hall to check there as well. To look after the paramedic team, just on the off-chance Jonathan had just torn after his brother in the first place. But no matter where she looked, it didn't matter. The realization was like a slap in the face, and it made her stomach fall away from her completely. She had been so focused on Cameron –  _everyone_  had been so focused on Cameron – that nobody had even noticed. Not even Jordan.

She whirled around to the others, almost too stricken to even speak. Not that she even really needed to— everyone was well aware. But it came out anyway, in nothing but a gasp. "Jonathan is gone."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided I would like to continue this story! If ABC doesn't want to give these characters more life, then I still do. I'd like this to be a long-term project, because I certainly have a lot of ideas for it! As long as people are wanting me to write, I will. :) Thank you to those of you who have read and left such sweet comments already, I really appreciate every single one of them! I hope you like where I take this story!  
> I always try and edit with a fine-toothed comb, but I write a lot, and it's a lot to read through haha. If I've missed any glaring ones, I'd love to fix them! Along with anything else that could be off! Thank you very much for reading, I hope you like it! <3 
> 
> Given that this story is ongoing and still very much in the works, tags might change with new chapters. I'm going to add a few for this one. Just so everyone knows, if that's something you're worried about, I will always update tags as needed with every chapter.

_"Jonathan. Jonathan…Johnny— Johnny, wake up!"_

_Jonathan's eyes snapped open as the whisper escalated just the tiniest bit, into more of a tiny scream than a hiss. Immediately, he went rigid when he saw a face less than an inch away from his own. He couldn't see anything else, and, wrenched right out of sleep to see this unexpected proximity, he went into a tiny spasm, jerking away and opening his mouth to scream. Cameron had been expecting it, though, because he scrambled out and practically slapped his hands over his mouth. "Shhh!" he hissed, back to whispering. Though his words were sharp, his eyes were practically shining in the darkness of the room when he went on. "Don't yell!" he whispered. "You'll wake up Dad."_

_Recovering from the shock of what had literally seemed like the beginning of a horror movie, Jonathan scowled blearily, and swatted his hands away. The smile on Cameron's face stayed, and it just made him scowl more. They'd gotten to bed last night at three in the morning— from the lighting of the room, it couldn't even be eight, yet. He shouldn't be awake right now, much less…_ this  _awake. "What in the world could you possibly want, Cameron?" he grumbled, closing his eyes and flopping back down. Cameron started to protest and grab at his shoulder, but Jonathan shrugged him off with a grumble. He tucked his blanket tighter around himself and twisted so he could turn his back to him. "Go back to bed," he growled._

" _I never went to bed," Cameron whispered excitedly. Before Jonathan could say anything else, if he was even going to, his brother crawled up to crouch beside him on the mattress. And before he could object to_  that _, Cameron added to the entire situation as he reached over and started to shake him by the shoulder. Practically flailing him around. If Jonathan's anger was measured on a meter, it'd be shattering up through the top right now. "I've been up ever since the show! Jonathan, Jonathan, wake up, it's today!" Jonathan pressed his face more into his pillow, his reply too muffled to make out. Which was probably a good thing, because the language he used was more than a little colorful. Cameron ignored it, like he was ignoring everything else. "It's your birthday, it's your birthday!" He was still barely speaking…Jonathan had trouble hearing him, and he was less than five inches from his ear._

_This did nothing. Not this early in the morning. "It's your birthday too, and you don't see me jumping up and down on your bed," he snapped. "It's early, Cam, we can do something later…"_

" _I already— Jonathan turn around!" He shook his shoulder harder, and Jonathan closed his eyes tightly, wondering what it was like to be an only child. Wondering if they got to sleep more. If they were less stressed. It must be nice…he couldn't really relate. Cameron gave up on practically flinging his brother everywhere and resolved to just flop down on top of him, dropping like a heavy weight on his twin's side. Jonathan grunted, duking down and covering his head with his blanket as he seethed. He was five seconds away from elbowing Cameron in the face as hard as he could. His brother twisted around to look at him, relentlessly smiling. "Johnny look! Look at what I got you!" He was practically begging now. "Just pop your head out for like two seconds, and I promise you'll love me."_

" _Doubt it," he grumbled. "You're the worst person on this planet. I like you the_  least _."_

" _Okay, that's probably true," Cameron relented. "But just look. C'mon." A pause. When he received nothing: "C'moooon. It's your birthday, let me give you your present! I stayed up all night for it!"_

_He finally gave in. Eyes bleary and expression more than a little grumpy, Jonathan tugged his blanket down. Cameron's smile grew – if that was even possible in the first place – and he moved to hold up his hand and present the gift. At first, it didn't make sense. Jonathan just stared at the paper like he'd never seen one before. But he knew what it was. Slowly, the exhaustion melted off of him and he started to sit up, his eyes widening. Cameron's smile turned into a beam. "Happy birthday," he hummed as his brother reached over to take it._

" _You…got a driver's license," Jonathan noted, looking at the printed information. At the picture of his brother smiling, practically radiating excitement in the tiny box. All of his information was listed, everything in order. It was legit. Somehow…Cameron had gotten a driver's license at 7:30 in the morning, when, technically, they'd only been sixteen for about four hours._

" _No, see, that's what's so great," Cameron objected, still whispering. He pushed off of Jonathan, and the both of them sat up now. Jonathan looked at him skeptically; his brother still grinned. He leaned over and tapped the paper, over the picture. His smile turned slyer, and Jonathan began to slowly follow suit, brightening too. "_ You  _got a license," he corrected. He hadn't slept a single minute. There were bags under his eyes, as if to prove this. He must have pulled strings to get one this early— he must have snuck away somehow, and skillfully, since Jonathan hadn't even noticed. He'd stayed up all night for this, but he was still wide-eyed and awake. And there was nothing but eagerness in his voice when he proposed: "And I think we should take it for a spin before Dad wakes up."_

He was running. He didn't even know where he was going— he didn't even know which way the woman had gone, but he was giving chase. It didn't matter. He would figure it out. He would find her. He would track her down ("You're better this than I am.") and he would do whatever it took. He'd let her go before. He'd lowered his gun at Kay's command, and he'd simply watched her get away. Another mistake. He should have fired then. He should have shot her, at least in the leg, if nothing else. They could have caught her, they could have saved Cameron. But he'd messed up then, like he'd messed up now. So now, he wasn't going to stop. He wasn't going to hold himself back.

He was going to kill her.

She'd killed his brother. She'd made him responsible for Cameron's murder.

He was going to find her. It wasn't a question of  _if_ , it was a question of  _when_.

And when he  _did_  find her, he was going to make her regret everything she'd done. Not just framing him for murder. That wasn't even an issue anymore. It wasn't even on his mind. No. She was going to regret everything she'd done to Cameron. He would make sure of it. He would drag the apology out of her, if that was what it took. He would make her beg for mercy, the way Cameron hadn't been able to. He would make her last moments just as painful as she'd made Cameron's. He was going to do everything it took, and even more.

He kept running. His body was one giant ache. His legs were screaming. His arms were burning. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. But he kept going, tears streaming down his face. Anger was the only thing keeping him in motion, pushing his exhausted muscles even though they were already far past their breaking point. It was the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the pavement and screaming as loud and as long as he could. From curling into a ball and blocking everything else out because none of it mattered anymore. He couldn't do that. Not right now. He had to leave and get far enough away. He had to get out of the city, at the very least. He had to find the woman.

He wasn't going to stop.

And this time, he wouldn't be swayed.

This time, Jonathan was going to fucking kill her.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There was nothing left to do, on their part. Dina had ridden with Cameron in the ambulance; the team had agreed without a single hesitation that he wasn't to be left alone, if they could help it. Just in case. Kay, reluctantly, had left to try and find Jonathan before his disappearance actually became noticeable to anyone outside of the group. He had run off, but if he was on foot, even without the tracker, there was a chance of finding him before further action could be taken. She could track him down and stop him from making a mistake he would surely regret. Or at least, that had been the plan when, tearing her eyes away from the ambulance, she had turned and shot away.

They didn't have a single clue on how her search was coming along. Oddly enough, Cameron was the only one of them who'd had her phone number. So currently, the three friends were waiting together in the hospital Cameron had been taken to, silent and not quite looking at one another. Dina was pacing, her fingers tangling and untangling in an anxious habit as she wore a rut between the same two walls of the waiting room. She looked thoughtful, even though there wasn't a problem to think through. Every so often, she would mumble to herself, like she was trying to line things up, or make sense of them. Like this was all some kind of math problem, and she was just rereading it over again, hoping this time it would make some sense.

Gunter and Jordan were sitting. Gunter was trying to distract himself with the magazines that were offered, but there was only so much someone like him could do with Home Goods before they realized the effort was pretty useless. Eventually, ages passing in this room, he'd just taken to staring off into space with tightly-pursed lips. The expression on his face was unreadable, probably purposefully so. But Jordan was open book. He sat with his head hung down low, and a slouch to his posture. He was weighed down with something, and every so often Dina would glance in his direction, as though she was tempted to ask him what the matter was. But every time, she bit it back. The silence between the trio was going unbroken. All that could be heard was the activity of the hospital around them, a little muted thanks to the late hour it had gotten to be.

Until the quiet was shattered. By the most unlikely of the three.

"He went after her," Jordan croaked. The other two turned, immediately picking up on the thickness still in his voice. Not something unreasonable— they'd been here for quite some time with no news on Cameron's situation. Still unconscious and unresponsive, he had been rushed away, and there hadn't been much explanation at all as to what had happened next. Waiting games were the hardest to play, and they had no choice. But still, his expression was overly raw when he continued. To elaborate, even though they didn't need him to at all. "Jonathan went after the woman. He wasn't there when Cameron was brought back. He doesn't know."

"He will." Dina's response came out in more of a snap. Jordan closed his eyes. "Kay will find him."

Tension sparked like lightning between them. It fizzled and crackled and made the air heavy. There was hardly ever tension between them— not like this, at least. They were a family. They worked together. They knew each other's quirks, they knew how to handle one another, and how to conform or adapt or cooperate. Those were all things a team did, and they were the best team there was. But this wasn't their full team. They hadn't been a full team in a long time; they had been missing someone for ages now, and though the loss was more than apparent every day, they'd gotten along, because Cameron had risen to try and fill the gap. To smile brighter, to quip faster, to work harder. Now he was gone, too.

Both of the Black twins were gone…and where did that leave them?

It was like Gunter could read those exact thoughts. His voice was stiffer than normal when he spoke. "It'll all be fine." The other two looked at him, in silent skepticism. He gave a just-as-stiff nod of his head. "It will. Kay will find Jonathan and bring him back, and Cameron will get the help he needs. Tomorrow this is just going to be one big mess we can file away as never repeating again." He sounded sure of himself, but maybe that was just because he wasn't sure at all.

Dina's face fell, and she looked down at the ground. Once again, her hands clenched tightly together. That silence existed again, for a stretch of time. Before she finally strummed up enough courage to ask the question they were all wondering. Or, the question she thought they had all been wondering. "Why was he there?" Gunter frowned, looking over at her. Jordan stiffened and glanced off to the side. She shook her head, her eyebrows pulling together. "He was…helping her steal the diamond, and Jordan, he…" She looked to her friend, and he couldn't meet her eyes. His shoulders were hunching more together. Her expression began to harden. "He punched you," she said, as if such a thing needed reminding. And this was the first unraveling of the thread, she knew, because no matter what happened, no matter what scenario, in a million years… "Cameron would never hurt you. He would never hurt any of us." It wasn't an injured objection, or a confused one. It was a fact, and it was stated as such. He  _never_  would.

Jordan said nothing. The bruise darkening his cheek seemed more glaring.

She started to open her mouth to press more, when there was a new voice that caught her attention instead. "Are you the friends of Cameron Black?" Immediately, every one of them forgot the conversation at hand. It rolled off them like rainwater, and they whirled around to the doctor who was coming towards them. Their sharp reactions seemed to be enough of an answer. He was already wearing a kind smile on his face by the time he came to a stop. "You have no idea the reactions we got in the ER when he was brought in." He was attempting to be light, with this. "Most of the nurses were practically shoving each other over to offer their assistance. He's got quite a lot of fans, here."

It wasn't important at all. "How is he?" Dina demanded, bypassing the comment altogether.

The doctor glanced at her, realizing the attempt at rapport had either not landed, or it had been in bad taste. Most likely, it was a combination of the two. His expression flickered briefly, before he just straightened a bit and moved on with a dip of his head. "He was…lucky he got here when he did," he began. "He was barely breathing, and his heart was struggling to work properly because of that. It's accumulated quite a lot of strain and weakness from his arrest, and the multiple shocks it took to get it functioning again."

The doctor took in a slow breath and continued. "Right now, that  _and_  his low oxygen stats are the main things we're worried about, though there is a risk for brain damage, given how long he was without air. We're going to run some scans for that, but he is going to be moved up to the Intensive Care Unit. We have to monitor him closely, make sure his heart is carefully watched…he'll need to be on oxygen until he wakes up. Stats already tend to dip in healthy patients when they sleep; Cameron's are so low already that he requires a constant flow right now. Two of his ribs are injured from the CPR as well— they're hairline fractures, but it'll cause even more pain in breathing, so we want to be sure he's still getting enough despite it."

They were stunned, with this information. Give them any kind of puzzle, and they could finish it in less than ten minutes. Ten minutes being the longest possible time. But this wasn't a puzzle. Or, it wasn't one they were equipped to handle. "But…well— he's going to be alright, right?" Gunter prompted after a moment, a little bluntly. The doctor looked at him but said nothing at first. In the silence, he pressed further. "He's going to wake up. He'll be just fine." It was like if he presented them as statements rather than questions, they would solidify as true.

"That's the goal, yes," the man relented, speaking slowly. "The issue is…patients that are deprived of oxygen for an extended amount of time are already difficult to map. It depends on which areas of the brain were starved the most— which will be affected. And already, the brain is such a subjective thing, from person to person. Sometimes the patient wakes up normally, sometimes they fall into a coma and don't come out for some time; it all depends on the situation.

"We're still waiting to determine what exactly has been affected the most with Cameron. But he is breathing on his own, just very weakly. He isn't brain-dead." He said this like it was an accomplishment. Like they should turn around and high-five each other on that job well-done. "Moving him to the ICU, we'll scan his vitals every fifteen minutes. We'll track his heartrate, his O2 stats, his blood pressure— he'll get the right amount of oxygen until he is able to be weaned off of it. If any hair is out of place, we'll know the very second it is, and we'll be able to fix it before it becomes too much of a problem." He paused and added: "We'll take care of your friend and do everything we can to ensure his recovery."

Dina deflated, but she supposed that was all they could get from this. It was all that was to be done. So, though her voice came out soft, it was still genuine with gratitude. "Thank you," she breathed. "We appreciate it." She hesitated, looking over the doctor's shoulder towards the way he'd come. Her expression weakened as she hedged carefully: "Do you think…is it at all possible for us to see him? Soon?"

This question must have been what the doctor was dreading. He closed one eye in something akin to a wince, which immediately caused the three to stiffen in alarm. "Once a patient is moved up to the Intensive Care Unit, we only allow visiting by family after nine pm. Given that none of you are—"

"We are," Jordan argued immediately, even before he could finish.

The man was clearly apologetic. "I realize you care, but we can't—"

"We're his family." Dina's voice was flat, and it left no room for argument. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. It was the only fact about her that betrayed her apprehension; other than that, she was steady. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and the look in her eyes was harder than normal, to compensate for the worry she'd been grappling with this entire time. Facing her, the doctor stopped a little short, his expression falling even more. She went on, just as stiffly. "We're his family. All of us." She shook her head. Her next words stuck in her throat a little more. "We're the only family he has, right now."

Gunter nodded. Jordan hesitated, looking a little sick. But he nodded as well, all the same. They were all family; the whole team was. From the very beginning, bit by bit, piece by little piece, they'd become one. They knew everyone's weaknesses, and their secrets. They knew their stories, and their regrets, and their hopes. When one of them was troubled, they all would flock, wordlessly, and without hesitation. They were always there for one another.

If they couldn't be there with Cameron, now, then what kind of family were they?

This all was clear. It was plain as day, in their stiffened postures and their anguished expressions.

There was nothing more that needed to be said.

There wasn't anything that  _could_  be said; words weren't enough.

Staring at them all, and realizing this, the doctor's expression fell even more.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _When I'm workin', yes I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's workin' hard for you! And when the money comes in for the work I do, I'll pass almost every penny on to you!"_

_They were driving with the windows rolled down, on some back road that nobody would ever go. Not usually in general, but certainly not this early in the morning. The entire road was empty, save for the two of them, and that was exactly how they both liked it. There were no flashing lights, no people clambering to talk to them, no pressure to perform, no scrutinizing gaze following them to make sure what they pulled off was right. But most importantly…there was no separation. There was no distance, no secrecy. They were both there, together, singing loud enough to be heard at the same time._

_That was the best part._

_That was what made it truly special._

" _When I come home, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you!"_

_It was summer, but the early hour didn't have any of the humidity that was sure to come later. The wind coming through the windows was warm and cool at the same time. It was near prefect. The only thing wrong with them being down was that the music was a little harder to hear. But they'd quickly remedied it by just cranking it up as high as they could. Cameron was sitting in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dashboard. He was singing both the main part and the back-up somehow, that goofy smile still fixed in place. The smile that Jonathan was wearing too— but certainly it didn't look as stupid on him?_

" _And if I grow old, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's growin' old with you!"_

_Jonathan was at the wheel, pushing just a teensy hair above the speed limit. He'd hesitated at first – they both knew the rules, and this was going against practically every one of them – but he'd left the hesitation behind, on the highway. Now, he was just ecstatic. The wind was in his hair, his brother was with him, they were miles away from everything else, and for the first time in a very long time, he just felt normal. If he ignored the fact that paper in the glovebox didn't have his name on it— if he forgot that the person smiling on the ID wasn't actually him— it was just a normal sixteenth birthday. He and Cameron were just having fun. They didn't get to do that too much. It was nice._

" _But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more!"_

_It was the best birthday present anyone could have possibly given him._

_So, of course, it would come from his brother._

" _Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles, to fall down at your door!"_

He stood in the dark, staring. And waiting. His expression was blank, because that was easier to feel. It was easier to feel nothing…not to care. Not to think about what he was doing, or what might happen as a result of it, how Cameron had looked when he'd—

'Stop.  _What_  are you doing? Just— take a second, and really really  _look_ at what you're doing.'

A voice rang in his head, a part of himself still rooted in reality, and rationality.

Or maybe it wasn't his voice at all. Maybe it someone else's.

'You need to stop. You need to go back. You're making a mistake.'

He'd already made a mistake. His shoulders squared, and his stomach heaved, and again, at the thought, he felt like he was going to be ill. That, or collapse to the ground and never get up again. He'd made a mistake already, when he'd willingly rushed anywhere but to Cameron. When he'd dragged every single person out of that vault, except for the person that mattered the most. No, he'd made his mistake. His damning, irreversible mistake. There was nothing else he could do now, that would even hold a candle to that. There was nothing else that could possibly happen from here on that would amount to anything.

Jonathan closed his eyes, struggling to hold onto that apathy. He needed it. Before now, he'd tried to fight it. In prison, apathy was what got you through the day. When you saw someone get attacked, when you heard that someone else had hung themselves in their cell during the night, you needed that apathy not to blink an eye. He'd been trying to stave it off as much as he could— trying to only use it when he had to, and not let it permeate everywhere else. To swallow him whole like he knew it had swallowed so many others.

The only reason he'd been able to do this was because of Cameron. The moments his brother came to visit him, a stark contrast to the dreary and gray world he'd been stuck in, were what got him along. The times that made him remember that there was actually a place that still existed where people smiled from ear-to-ear and weren't constantly looking over their shoulder. He always reminded him that there was still a way out, because "I found this woman— she's going to help us, Johnny— I'm going to help her, and then she's going to help me help you, I promise. I promise you." He reminded him that there was a place waiting for him when he got out of that hellhole, and that it was never going to go anywhere, no matter what dead-ends were reached. Every time he came, Cameron reminded him that there was something else.

He reminded him that there was still hope.

Jonathan was crying again. Initially, it was gradual, but it quickly mutated, and he started to break all over again. At first, he'd only felt a single silent tear streak its way down. But the next moment, before he could try and block it all out, his cheeks were soaked, and his shoulders were heaving sharply up and down. He was sagging to the side, hitting the brick wall with a thud and ducking his head as his expression crumbled to pieces. He reached up, ignoring the exhaustion in his arms from the CPR he had been unable to carry out successfully, and he hid his face. He was good at that. He'd always been good at it— that had been his job. To hide. Cameron had always been the one to step into the limelight, even if sometimes he hadn't wanted to.

Now, what was he supposed to do?

Footsteps caused his head to snap up. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, to drag himself back into focus. He ignored the pain— it didn't even register. He just looked instead and found what he had been waiting for. A young girl, likely twenty, or somewhere around there. She was walking on her own, stifling a yawn. She was carrying two binders and a notebook in her arms. Her car was one of the only few still left in the parking lot. It had been a gamble, to be here and just hope that there would be something waiting. Somebody leaving soon, to go home. But he didn't have many more options. He had to get as far away from here as possible, before Kay could reach him, which she was likely trying to do at this very moment. He needed a car, and this was the easiest way of getting one without a fight.

He'd been standing against the wall of the office building, motionless and completely hidden. She was oblivious, and she kept just as much so even when he pushed off the wall to follow her. He kept silent, closing the distance between them slowly, as to not be noticed. He was grabbing that apathy again and wrapping it around him like armor. His expression was clearing, and he quickly wiped away the tears that were on his face still, hoping that the dark would make any redness in his eyes invisible. He kept walking down the lot, realizing that she was going towards a gray Volkswagen. Its lights flashed when she wormed out her keys and unlocked it.

It wasn't the best car in the world, but it was what he'd make do with for now.

He was pretty sure it got good gas mileage, at least.

'Stop this. Please.' Jonathan's left eye twitched, and he quickened his pace. 'Please, stop, you don't have to do this. You're better than this. I know you're better than this Johnny, you're—'

He rushed forward and grabbed her shoulder, reaching around with his other hand to cover her mouth before she could scream. Immediately, she went rigid, and her resounding screech of alarm muffled against his hand. She dropped all her supplies and started to thrash and fight. Again, that apathy slipped. He ducked his head and cringed, a wave of shame and sickness rushing over him so violently he almost let go of her and just turned to take off running. He almost gave into everything.

But he didn't do that. He just forced his eyes to open again, and he stomped the emotions down. He only grabbed hold of her tighter, and yanked her close, to make sure that she couldn't turn and see his face. "Stop— stop. I'm not going to hurt you." He kept his voice low, but close to her ear so she would hear. The girl was gasping, trembling with a fear that made him want to vomit. But all the same, after a few more seconds of panicked yanking that was fruitless, she stopped. Jonathan's hand felt wet. She was crying. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his voice from trembling when he went on. "I'm not going to hurt you, I just need your car. Just give me your car; don't call for help, and I won't hurt you."

She whimpered.

He hated himself.

Shaking, she held up her hand, the key still looped around her finger. The relief he felt at her instant compliance was immeasurable. He immediately snatched it from her and tried not to hear her second choke of fear when he went right back to holding her in place. Slowly, he began to back towards the car. He kept tight hold of her over her mouth. She was gasping, and crying even more now, but she still wasn't fighting, or yelling. She just stumbled back with his pull, shaking out of pure terror. "Good. Don't scream," he warned. "Nothing's going to happen to you, as long as you keep quiet."

"Please don't hurt me," she begged, struggling to speak around his hand.

His reply came out in a snap, almost before he even realized it. "Shut up." It was biting, and harsh. Reflex. Just like his reflex when he shoved Dina off of him. And as he backed up to her car, carefully taking away his other hand to reach back for the door, he felt another wave of shame punch him in the stomach. He tried to keep the apathy close. He tried to hide in it— he was good at hiding, why couldn't he hide in this?

He finally got the door open. But even once he did, he paused.

'You still have a chance. It's not too late. I believe in you— I've  _always_ believed in you. Please don't—'

He pushed her away with a hefty shove. Not enough to push her to the ground, but enough to cause her to stumble enough to put distance between them. As she staggered forward, tripping in the attempt to catch herself, he whirled around and flew into the driver's seat. He pushed the keys into the ignition and yanked the car into drive. By the time she was whirling around, wide-eyed and shocked, he was already slamming his foot down on the accelerator. He was already peeling out of the lot and making for the road. Trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking as they gripped the wheel desperately. Trying to ignore the bile-like taste that was in his mouth.

He had a car, now. There was enough gas to get him far away from here. He could drive away, put enough distance between him and everything else, and then he could start planning. He could start figuring out where the hell the woman had gone. He could start chasing after her. It was all there, it was all clear, like a step-by-step guide. This was just what he had to do to get to her— he didn't have a choice. That was what he told himself as he drove away, to try and trick himself into relaxing. To try and get his eyes to stop stinging, and that shame from burning through his skin.

It was what he told himself to slow his breathing, and reign himself back in.

This was necessary. To find the woman, and kill her, and make her pay for what had happened to Cameron. If he was going to reach her, and if he was going to go through with this, he had to stomach it all. He had to be willing to do whatever it took. He owed it to Cameron. He owed it to him to do everything he could. Not to back out. He had to do this.

He had to, he had to, he had to.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was still sleeping. He hadn't moved a single muscle, the entire time he'd been in the ICU. It was like he hadn't slept in years, and he was just now being given the chance to. He'd been in hospitals before. Heck, he'd been in the ICU before— out of him and Jonathan, he was always the more likely to be hurt during a trick. He was usually the 'Cameron Black' that was admitted into medical care. Once he'd spent months in the hospital, recovering from a fall. So this was nothing new, at least in the technical sense. They'd seen him like this— unconscious and hooked to monitors that scanned his vitals constantly, making sure they were still there and still normal. They were used to seeing him pale in a hospital bed, as much as it hurt to face.

But what they weren't used to was seeing the oxygen mask on his face— watching tensely to see it fog and recede just to make sure he was actually breathing. They weren't used to listening to the heartbeat monitor and feeling a rush of panic every time there was even the smallest of pauses between each. They weren't used to the dreading, crippling fear that everything would fall apart again, and his chest would stop moving. That he would die again, but this time they wouldn't be able to bring him back.

This was the tense atmosphere that plagued them all night long. They were allowed in the room— they had been given that much, at least. The worry would have been tenfold, if they'd been forced to endure it separately from their friend. This way, they could see him, and track his every little change. Dina was sitting in a rolling chair that she'd pulled up, so she could be right at his head. She'd started by just hovering anxiously over him, but after so many hours had passed, she'd changed to lean over so that her head could rest on the mattress beside him. Her eyes were closing, but every so often she would pry them open, refusing to allow herself to miss even a moment with him.

Gunter was sitting in the recliner off to the side, exhausted and strained as he stared off into space. Jordan was sitting in the windowsill, looking outside at the parking lot, which was growing more and more active the brighter it got outside. His expression was clouded, and impossible to read. His legs were drawn up tightly to his chest, like he was cold, and trying to conserve warmth. None of them said a single word— they hadn't this entire time. They could blame it on the fact they didn't want to wake Cameron, but they all knew that excuse was faulty.

Dina was staring blearily at the bracelets on Cameron's wrist. The white identification tag, along with the bright yellow one that declared him a 'Fall Risk.' Should he get out of bed, an alarm would ring throughout the entire floor, and everyone within a mile radius would come sprinting to his aide. She was trying to imagine what he would say if he was awake. How he might crack a smile and make some joke about how he was the center of attention. Or maybe he would be annoyed and roll his eyes, and mutter something like how ridiculous this all was. She wasn't sure.

All she knew was that she would give anything for him to set off that bed alarm right now.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps coming into the room. She anticipated the nurse or the technician, coming by again on their rounds. But she immediately sat up when it turned out to be anything but the case. Kay and Mike were walking into the room, both completely exhausted, like they'd been running around all night. She stiffened at the sight, realizing with a pang that not once had she stopped to wonder whether or not Mike was okay. In the shock of everything – everything with Cameron, and then with Jonathan – he hadn't crossed her mind once. Now, she was overwhelmed with guilt at the smile he gave her, and the relief that was there on his face.

She tried to ignore it. She allowed herself the same relief now, that he was okay, even if she hadn't wondered before this very moment. But the smile she drafted onto her face for him only stayed for a short moment. Before she lost grip of it and found herself looking to Kay instead. "Jonathan?" she asked, her voice crowding with worry. Mike's smile weakened; he ducked his head down to the floor. She didn't notice the movement, though. Her attention was solely for Kay.

Kay was slow to answer. Her eyes had caught on Cameron, and stayed there, like they were stuck. At the question, she had to shake herself out of it and turn. But the look on her face already caused Dina's heart to constrict in pain even before she could begin. "We couldn't find him." Dina hunched her shoulders, looking down at Cameron sorrowfully. "We have no idea where he went. We didn't have a choice— we had to call it in."

"Did you check the Archive?" she asked. Her voice was so tense, it could be broken into halves. "He might have—"

"No," Kay replied. She shook her head. "He's gone."

Dina bent over to hold her head in her hands. Jordan was sitting cross-legged now, though his shoulders were still tense. He was silent, just staring and watching the exchange. Gunter cursed underneath his breath, shoving himself up to his feet. He started to pace, frequently turning and looking at Cameron's unconscious form as if he was waiting for him to wake up and actually react to all of this. But there was still nothing, just like there'd been nothing for hours. This only proved to make him even more agitated.

Kay started to say something more, when Gunter whirled around to look at Jordan instead. "It's been hours," he spat. Jordan stiffened and looked up. His fingers clenched tighter around his knees. Both of these things, Gunter noticed. And again, his anger just multiplied. "We've given you  _hours_ to explain, and you've just sat there like a kicked puppy, saying nothing. Like you're the one in that hospital bed, not him." Jordan cringed. He started to look towards Cameron, but stopped at the last minute, like he couldn't bring himself to. He just ducked his head more. Kay watched carefully, her eyebrows pulling together. "So are you going to talk now, or are you going to keep whatever secret it is you're holding from us?"

It was an agonizingly long time before Jordan could speak. When he did, his words were slow, and weighted down with regret. "It wasn't…my secret to tell—"

"We never keep secrets!" Dina couldn't hold back her yell. Jordan winced when she whirled away from Cameron to glare daggers at him. He couldn't force himself to hold her gaze, which was already welling over with tears again. She shook her head and stood up, her expression more than pained. "What did you keep from us, Jordan!? Did you— did you know about this!? Did you know something we didn't!?"

The air was too thick to breathe around. Jordan was gnawing on his lower lip, shrinking more into the windowsill. Everyone was staring at him, with hard and expectant gazes. The worry had melted away for the moment. The concern that had been plaguing them for ages was replaced now with something close to hostility. Jordan took in a slow breath, his eyes darting quickly over to Cameron. "He…he called me," he managed weakly. Dina went absolutely rigid. Her eyes flew wide, and her mouth opened as if she wanted to cry out. But the shock kept her mute. "He called me and he—" He took in a deeper breath, tilting his head to the side. "He told me not to tell you guys."

"He wouldn't," Dina protested, the words falling out of her mouth before she even really knew they were there. "Cameron wouldn't  _ever_ —"

"He did!" Jordan protested. His voice was strained, but he cut her off regardless. Reluctantly, she closed her mouth. Her expression was angry and pained at the same time. "He called me and told me that the woman was forcing him to help her pull off the heist," Kay stiffened, where she stood on the other side of the room, "and when I told him we were trying to rescue him, he told me not to, because she had some— some kind of proof about Jonathan's innocence she was holding over him." This caused a significant change in Gunter and Dina. The both of them slackened, their eyes rounding out in surprise. Dina looked back at Cameron, alarmed, like she wanted more information. "He told me it didn't matter if he got in trouble, or if we did, because if he helped her, she would give him what he needed to get Johnny out of prison, and that was all he wanted."

"Why did he call you?" Dina demanded, a little unthinkingly. The question was harsh, and it was a little insulting in the way it was snapped. But at the moment, she wasn't too bothered with keeping pleasantries. "And why didn't you tell us anyway? You didn't have to tell him— and we would have understood! But you just let us keep thinking he was…that he was hurt, or…" She trailed off, unable to finish.

Jordan ducked his head. "He said I was the best liar," he exhaled. For better or for worse, he had apparently managed to uphold that title. What that meant now, he had no idea. "And…I  _wanted_  to tell you guys, I  _did_ , but…but I promised him I wouldn't. He was asking me to help him— I couldn't say no. Even if it was the tiniest possibility of Jonathan getting out…I couldn't risk it— I couldn't take that from him, it's what he's wanted ever since it happened! It's what we've all wanted!"

His voice grew choked, the more he tried to defend himself. He hesitated, before he looked over at Kay. Her expression was unreadable, as usual. But he was a pretty good judge of emotions anyway. "He didn't do it, you know," he said. "He ran into me in the hall— he told me he couldn't go through with it. He said it was because of you." She blinked rapidly. She jerked at first, like she didn't really want to, but eventually she turned and looked down at Cameron, her eyes wide and a little hollow. "Yeah, apparently…when he first called me, I mentioned you…getting in trouble because of him, or something. I don't remember it. But…you know…apparently he did."

She was silent for some time. Dina and Gunter were back to looking accusingly at Jordan, but her eyes were only for Cameron. "He…he didn't steal the diamond?" she asked. Jordan shook his head. Kay's eyebrows drew together. She glanced at Mike, who could only offer her a shrug. "Well, then…" She turned back to Cameron, her expression starting to fracture bit by bit. "But…then what—?"

"Oh, gosh."

A new person was standing in the doorway, clad in hospital scrubs. She looked much too young to be wearing the uniform, but their nametag declared plainly 'Patient Care Technician.' The nervousness on their face paid homage to the fact they must have been pretty new. Or maybe it just wasn't helped by the fact that they were staring at Mike – and mostly the FBI badge he was wearing – with huge eyes. She stiffened even more when everyone looked at her— if her eyes got any bigger, they would pop out of their sockets. "Oh, no, I— you—"

She stopped and took in a deep breath, forcing herself to slow down. She tried to put a smile on her face, but it came out way too apprehensive to pass for one. "I was just going to come in and— before my shift ended— I was going to…see if he was awake, I…" She got distracted for a second, her eyes pulling instead to Cameron. She had to shake herself to get her focus back to where it needed to be. "You're— FBI, you're here for— oh wait, I shouldn't…but I mean, if you were going to ask for it anyway, I guess it's not…"

"What are we going to do now that the staff is having a stroke?" Gunter grunted, glaring off to the side.

The young girl was still flustered. But she tried to keep up her grin. "I was just…meaning to ask whether or not you were here for something," she amended, looking to Kay and Mike now. "And…I mean, and I'm not your technician really, but— I could call security, because they have it right now. Um, I mean technicians have to call them every time a patient's belongings are collected, it's standard procedure, but now that I'm thinking about it, this might not be a part of my job description…" She pursed her lips, blinking a bit as she stared off. Like she was trying to wrack her mind on all the things she was actually allowed to do, and what she wasn't. Like she wasn't sure.

"It?" Kay repeated. The girl roused, but just stared at her a little blankly. She wasn't too sure what to say, and at this point it looked like she was giving up trying to figure something out. Kay glanced at Cameron again, and then over at Jordan, who looked just as lost as she was. "We  _are_  looking for something," she said, turning back to the technician. The young girl fidgeted and looked back towards the door, like she was regretting coming through it. But she turned back all the same. "There was a diamond that was stolen from an auction last night," Kay bridged, speaking slowly. "He didn't…happen to have it on him when he was brought in…did he?"

The girl's eyes flashed; Kay thought at first just because the question was so ridiculous. Of course he wouldn't have had it on him— Jordan had said he'd backed out of the heist. He'd given up the possibility of getting proof about Jonathan's innocence…for her. The thought stuck, and immediately she set to work in scrubbing it away before it could fester. Now wasn't the time. She'd been invested this entire time, and it had gotten her nowhere. She had to step back and be objective— everything worked better, that way. She had to step back, away from emotions, and just figure out what to do now. Figure out what to tell her boss, now that Cameron had been revealed to help out the mystery woman. Figure out what to do about Jonathan, who was on the run and who-knew-where by now. She had to figure out what to do about the di—

"Yeah, it was— well, I mean, it was in his back pocket."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Ice cream for breakfast was their favorite tradition on their birthday. Really, you couldn't go wrong with it. Refreshing? Ice cream. Sweet? Ice cream. Nutritional? Probably somehow ice cream as well. Or at least, that was what they agreed on, anyway. It had come after they'd driven aimlessly for well over an hour. They put distance between them and the city they'd travelled to with their father. Another thing that they got distance from. They drove out until the city roads turned to dirt ones, and then they drove the tiniest bit further. When they turned back around, it was with clear reluctance. But that was part of the shtick, in a way._

_If they didn't hesitate, it would have just meant that there hadn't been anything special about the morning._

_Kind of made it easier to swallow._

_They drove back. Not once did Cameron ask if he could drive. Jonathan offered it a few times, but to no avail. Each attempt was met with a quick "Nah, I'm good." So Jonathan took up the task of driving them back the same way he'd driven them out. It was faster going back, because the time was starting to become a train of thought again. A factor that they'd sort of lost track of, in the fun of it all. They had no idea when their dad was going to get up— maybe he'd still be asleep when they got back._

_All the same, despite the time, they still couldn't break tradition. Even if it was just going through a drive-thru on the way back and getting some._

_They were renting a house this time. Which was perfect, because they were both getting tired of stuffy hotel rooms. Places where they had to be quieter, and they couldn't even peek out into the hall, unless they wanted to risk someone seeing the two of them. Where Cameron had to glumly hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the door as he followed his dad out, because they were going out just for an appearance, and they didn't want the maid service coming in to see Jonathan just sitting inside waiting for them to get back._

_It wasn't like renting a house for the two weeks they were there solved all their problems, but it was bigger. It was more private, at least. The driveway wrapped around the house and they had a garage they could close, so nobody would see them going in and out. It made getting everything out of the car so much easier, because they didn't have to come up with some convoluted way to get Jonathan inside without anyone seeing. Which was good, because he was getting bigger and he couldn't fit in a suitcase anymore, even though it was kind of funny to see him fall out when they were younger._

_They pulled into the garage and made sure the door was shut before they got out. Cameron had taken up the job of cramming himself underneath the dashboard once they'd gotten back into town, trying not to get his ice cream everywhere in the process. Somewhere along the way he'd smacked some onto his cheek and had laughed for about two minutes straight. Jonathan had exasperatedly muttered about how ridiculous he was, which added another minute._

_He was still laughing when he got out of the car, awkwardly yanking himself out of the tiny space. Jonathan watched him blandly, with a kind of patience a mother usually reserved for their kid when they were doing something particularly stupid in the middle of a grocery store. That was usually what he looked like, though; it stopped fazing Cameron a long time ago._

_He just gave him a huge beam as he bumped the door closed behind him with his hip. "I'd say that was a success," he chirped, taking another lick of his ice cream. He'd gotten vanilla— Jonathan had gotten chocolate. There was probably some kind of meaning behind that. Or maybe they just liked different flavors of ice cream. He glanced towards the door that led inside and started to round the car and make his way over to it. "I think Dad's still asleep." It was near ten, now. It wasn't unheard of for him to sleep in, especially when they'd performed the night before. "We can probably just go in."_

_Jonathan watched him go for a second, silent as Cameron grabbed the doorknob and slowly eased his way inside. His eyes flashed, with a little bit of caution. Out of the two of them, he was the most susceptible to it. In fact, he probably had enough caution for the both of them— always had, from the very beginning. Maybe that was why Cameron was so devoid of it. That was why Jonathan hesitated, when he went straight in. Cam led the way, and Johnny followed._

_At first, he was tempted to believe in Cameron's logic. The house was dead silent, with absolutely no activity. He was almost worried their footsteps were too loud. Cameron brightened and shot him a triumphant smile that he returned, coming off from their tiny and short-lived adventure scot-free. The door came out into a teeny laundry room, which you could stumble out of to reach the kitchen. Once he did just that, Cameron spun around and raised his ice cream cone in a silly 'cheers' gesture, which made Jonathan grin. Until his eyes caught on something behind Cameron, and it died immediately._

_At the change in expression, Cameron turned, slowly lowering his cone when he saw their dad standing on the other side of the room. He hadn't been there a second ago. Despite the look on Jonathan's face, though, Cameron stayed bright. He usually did. "Hi, Dad," he chirped, and Jonathan's head moved to the side, in a tiny 'Stop it' kind of way. Cameron wasn't looking at him, though. Their father only stared at him steadily, and, trying to fill the silence, he offered: "Happy June fifth."_

" _Where did you go?" he demanded flatly._

" _I…" Cameron gestured awkwardly, like he did when he wasn't sure what to say. "I mean— don't worry about it, Dad, we were careful! We—"_

" _Where. Did you. Go?"_

_Jonathan watched Cam wilt. Physically shrink down, like he was a dying flower. Cameron always had a harder time hiding things like guilt, or sorrow, or anything like that— and it was ten times as worse when it was with their dad. So Johnny did what he always did and took a tiny step forward so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder. He set his ice cream aside on the counter. "We drove out of town," he explained, and though his father's stare turned even icier when it was turned onto him, his voice was perfectly steady. "Cameron got a license, and he was under the dash the entire time we were out where anyone could see us. We drove out somewhere empty, it was fine! Nothing happened. Nobody saw."_

" _You're positive about that." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. One filled with too much skepticism and condescension to be anything but demeaning. The kind of reply parents shot at you when you were talking about something way too stupid to be anything real. But just in case it wasn't clear, Sebastian continued. "You're absolutely certain that when you went out, in a place crawling with people that had just seen you perform last night, who would love to track you down and talk to you, that not a single person saw you?" Jonathan and Cameron exchanged a look. A silent one, but one that spoke volumes all the same. Their father looked at what they were holding in their hands. His anger mounted. "And you_ went _somewhere!?"_

_Cameron flinched as his voice escalated to more of a yell. "Jonathan did— I was under the dash, there was— I took a jacket and put it so that when we drove up—"_

" _You went through a drive-thru?"_

" _Nobody saw, we were really careful! We just wanted—"_

" _Careful!" He repeated the word again in that same exasperation. Cameron closed his eyes. "You were_ careful _! And what happened if someone asked why there was a jacket in the car in the middle of summer? What if someone saw you ducking down in the first place!? What if someone asked Jonathan a question he couldn't answer!?" These were all asked much too fast for Cameron to even begin to address. And every question only got louder and angrier. Cameron was shrinking down more and more. Jonathan's eyes were slowly narrowing. Their dad walked closer, and Cameron trained his gaze down to the floor, already more than ashamed. But he kept going, because that was the way he was. "And were you being_  careful _when you thought it was a good idea to have Jonathan order two ice cream cones when he was supposed to be completely alone in the car!?"_

" _Nobody saw. Nobody asked questions," Cameron mumbled, weaker now._

" _Yet!" their father roared. Jonathan sidled closer to Cameron, but his brother didn't react at all. "They haven't found out_ yet _, but if you keep pulling stunts like this, it's only a matter of time before they do! Do you have any idea what could have happened, Cameron!? You could have given away the secret, and then what would we have left!? We would have nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Cameron was crying, though he wasn't blinking, in the effort to keep his tears at bay. It only made Jonathan angrier. "You could have ruined everything! We would have no show, no money— anything! Did you even stop to consider that!? Would it have been worth it!?"_

_Cameron said nothing. Jonathan started to step even more to the side, as if to plant himself in front of his brother. "It was just a—"_

"Cameron!" _Sebastian snapped. Cameron flinched again. "Would it have been_ worth it _?"_

_Cameron took in a quick and punctured breath. "No," he managed thickly, forcing himself to answer. He did another fast inhale. He tried to make his father understand. "But, I—" His lips were shaking almost too hard to form a word. "But I just wanted to— it was fun, we— I just wanted to let Jonathan— or…or have a morning where it was just—"_

" _Whose idea was this?" he demanded coldly._

_There was a long stretch of time – that was probably shorter than it actually was – in which neither of them said a single word. Eventually, Jonathan straightened and pulled his shoulders back. He started to pipe up. "It was m—"_

" _It was my idea," Cameron amended. He kept his eyes trained on his shoes. "I snuck out last night and I pulled some strings to get my driver's license. I wanted to surprise Jonathan…I woke him up this morning— I persuaded him to go out in the first place. It was my idea. I just thought it would be fun." His voice was completely downtrodden and hollow. Not at all like he usually sounded. "I wasn't thinking…I should have known not to." His ice cream was starting to melt. He closed his eyes. Jonathan watched him in silence, his jaw locked backwards. Anger was beginning to make his blood boil. But it was nothing compared to the anger that happened the second Cameron started to try and apologize._

" _I'm sor—"_

_It was quick, but it was loud, and it was hard. Jonathan went stiff and his eyes flew huge when their father suddenly struck out and caught Cameron's cheek. The sound it made upon contact seemed loud enough to echo, and the force behind it knocked him down. Cameron hit the ground with a thud, too shocked to reach out and catch himself in time. He looked completely dazed, like his brain had been scattered. He didn't even try to pick himself up at first. Jonathan whirled around, looking at their dad with an expression twisted in something between rage and indignation. It was rare for their father to hit either of them. It came out of nowhere._

_Cameron's ice cream was all over the ground now. He stared blankly, still not getting up. Jonathan flew down to him, ignoring the mess as he just reached over and wrapped his arms around him without thinking. Still, Cameron looked like he didn't even notice it. "What was that for!?" Jonathan demanded, looking up at their father with a harsh glare. "He was trying to say he was sorry! You didn't have to—!"_

" _You two have lost sight of what's really important," he snarled, cutting him off. Jonathan quieted, but he held onto Cameron tighter, as if in silent encouragement. "I refuse to let either of you ruin everything because you weren't thinking ahead. I don't want to lose everything because of your carelessness, do you understand me?" Jonathan scowled. "You may be getting older, but that doesn't mean you know better than I do. That doesn't mean you're ready to do this by yourselves. Now. If I_ ever  _find out about the two of you going out together again without me – without a proper plan – the punishment will be much more severe. Now. I'll ask again. Do you understand me?"_

_More words were on the tip of Jonathan's tongue. He was tempted to yell, and snap. Fight. But after a moment's temptation, he only ducked his head. "Yes." It was nothing more than a growl._

_Sebastian looked down at Cameron expectantly. "Cameron. Do you understand me?"_

_Cameron was holding his cheek. Tears were streaked down his face, now. But he forced himself to answer anyway. "Yes," he choked._

_He nodded once. And without another word, he turned and walked back the way he'd come, leaving them behind. Jonathan watched him go, with a stare that was fit to kill. Then he ducked quickly down to his brother, the anger melting completely just to be replaced with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, bending down low to try and catch his gaze. Cameron didn't reply; he just closed his eyes, disappointment and shame crowding over his expression. Jonathan weakened. "I'm sorry, Cam." He started to rub one of his arms comfortingly. "He was the one who wasn't thinking— he shouldn't have done that. You didn't deserve that."_

_Cameron's lips trembled again. His expression crumbled, and he moved to wipe at his eyes. His voice was weak and fragile. "It's fine," he sniffed. He turned and tried to offer him a smile. It only made Jonathan's heart ache more. Cameron's eyes were red and filled with tears, but he tried to brush it off anyway. "I should have thought more. It was my fault." Jonathan's face fell. He tried to object, but Cameron was ducking away. He was dangerously close to breaking down, and Jonathan knew it. He was doing what he always did when that was the case— leaving. He started to push himself up to his feet. Jonathan sat back on his heels and watched sadly. "I'll…I'll be right back, I left something upstairs."_

_Jonathan's shoulders slackened. "Cam," he pleaded._

" _I just left something upstairs, I'll be right back!" He started out strong, but the last few words crumbled out underneath themselves to be more like sobs. He quickened his pace and rushed away. Jonathan knew there wouldn't a lot of point in following. He just sat there on the kitchen floor and listened for the telltale shut of a door somewhere above, and that was exactly what he was given. The slam caused his heart to wrench. He ducked his head down and tried to restrain himself from shoving himself up to his feet and storming after their father, wherever he'd gone._

_There wasn't a point to that, either._

_There wasn't a point to anything. This was how it was._

_He just wished they could have had one day._

_He took in a slow breath and tried to remain calm. Tried to distract and reorient himself. He stood up and stared bleakly at the kitchen, and his ice cream, which was melting now. And, to try and help himself, he turned to fetch some paper towels. Automatically, he just started to do what he did best._

_He started to clean up the mess, trying to ignore how it got there in the first place._

Jonathan was pushing the speed limit. Rushing down some highway he didn't even know the name of. He didn't care where he was going, as long as it was away from here. Once he got far enough away, then he could stop. Then, he could think. But now, it was just automatic. Other people were driving just as fast as he was. To make plane departures, to rush someplace family could be waiting, to book it home and dive into bed after a long and arduous night shift. Everyone was rushing for their own personal reasons. Try as he might, he couldn't put his own out of his mind like he usually tried to.

The radio was off. He couldn't stomach to hear anything at all. Cameron always sang along to whatever was on, annoyingly-loud and sometimes more off-key than usual, just because he knew it drove Jonathan crazy. He used to entertain him for a song or two before he finally drew the line and reached over to smack him, and tell him to cut it out, before he opened the door and kicked him out onto the road. He used to laugh at that. Now, he just felt sick. Why hadn't he just let him sing? Why hadn't he laughed with him? Why had he cut him off? Now, the silence was deafening.

Now, the silence just left that voice to talk in his head.

'This is wrong. Turn around. That exit— take that exit, take it!'

He kept driving.

He remembered that day— their sixteenth birthday. He remembered going upstairs after a couple of hours, after he'd given Cameron space to breathe again. He remembered knocking on his door and softly asking if he could come in. The long pause that had existed between his plea and the tiny click that signaled Cameron had actually unlocked it. How he'd walked inside and stared heavily at his brother, who was on the bed, face still wet with tears. How he'd gone over and sat down by him, not saying anything for a long time.

"It wasn't your fault," Jonathan had said quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I wasn't thinking," Cameron cried, guilt choking at his voice.

"Hey— no," Jonathan had rushed at once. His brother had only looked at him sorrowfully. "Cam, nothing bad happened. It all turned out just fine. We did good— we did really good, together. Like we always do!" Cameron had sniffed, but he'd cracked a tiny smile. Jonathan's heart had ached and twisted, but he'd given a self-assured nod. "You're fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. And you're not going to get hurt again. I won't let you." His voice had grown the tiniest bit harder when he'd said this. By then, Cameron's cheek had been bright red, and painful-looking. They'd had to put makeup over it for their next show.

"Everything's going to be fine, Cameron," he'd reassured gently. And, as always, Cameron had hung onto the promise like it was a lifeline. Because, in a way, it kind of was. "We're both going to be fine," he'd vowed. "We're always fine."

Cameron had smiled.

Jonathan struggled to get it out of his mind. To get it to stop playing on repeat. He wasn't successful. By now, the look on his face was one of complete blankness. There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing. Every so often, a tear would find its way down his cheek, but he never reached up to wipe it away, and he never wavered from his stoic stare. He just drove and remembered. That morning, the hit, the conversation. He remembered that conversation and wondered why he couldn't have had the chance to have the exact same one with him over again. Why he hadn't been able to get into the vault sooner— to grab tight hold of him despite the lack of oxygen and hold him just to make sure he actually was breathing again. Why he hadn't been able to tell him that he was fine? That everything would be alright, and he wouldn't be hurt anymore?

Jonathan took an exit. A random one. It led to a small branch away into gas stations and little food stops. It was still sort of early; the gap between the start of work for some, and the end of work for the night owls. Hardly anyone was out and about. If they were kids, they would have loved this time. Everyone was too busy worrying about themselves to notice them. They would have felt normal, they would have felt freer. Until reality had dragged them back down again, and they were forced to face the music.

Jonathan took a left. He was down some back road. The same kind of road that he and Cameron had picked out, back then. He'd driven all night, and into this morning. He didn't care to know where that left him. He didn't care that he didn't have a license, that he had no money for gas, that he would likely be on every watch list that existed in a couple hours, if he wasn't already there. He didn't care about any of that. Driving along the empty road for a bit, Jonathan pulled over to the side and went into park. He sat there in the silence, staring straight ahead.

He thought of how Cameron had looked so grateful to him whenever he reassured him.

The way he'd softened and brightened up, to become more like his old self.

He thought of the way he'd stared at him from the other side of the glass.

His eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth so hard his head quickly began to ache. Scowling now, Jonathan acted mindlessly and slammed his hand against the steering wheel as hard as he could. And he did this again, and again. He hit the steering wheel, the dashboard, the window, he hit anything he could get his hands on. He started out screaming, spitting out every curse word known to man. He screamed until his voice, already hoarse, completely gave out. Until it broke and shattered into a million pieces, and all he could do afterwards was cry. Until his exhausted arms gave out little by little, and his blows got weaker and weaker. Until he just sagged forward, hitting his forehead against the steering wheel and giving up.

Until he just started to wail and sob pathetically.

On the same kind of road Cameron had beamed at him on. With the windows down and the morning bright.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Mike left with the diamond. He promised Dina he would be back soon, adding a little softer that hopefully he would have news about Jonathan. She'd smiled at him and thanked him, before she'd just turned her attention back to Cameron. The three of them that made up his team weren't about to leave. They were staying, no matter what. Nobody was willing to leave long enough to even fetch a clean change of clothes, or even things like toothbrushes. No— leaving would run the risk of missing something. They were a gambling team, but that was too risky for them.

Kay stayed. Which was a surprise. But not one that they were willing to comment on. They had no idea how long she was going to stay. But she lingered in the room long after Mike left. Had everyone not been so worried about Cameron, and watching him, they would have found feeling of the room unbearable, and awkward. But it wasn't, somehow. They all just sat in silence, waiting. Watching as the nurse filed through, and the technician did their rounds every fifteen minutes. They watched them check his vitals and catalog them all and waited for any news. None was really offered. Cameron still slept. The sun got higher and higher in the sky. Though the blinds were drawn tight, the room got the tiniest bit less dim.

It was around one when apparently Kay couldn't stave off whoever kept calling her. She looked down at her phone and sighed, her eyes sliding closed. She stood up from her chair, her muscles stiff from sitting in one position for so long. "I should go," she said, breaking the silence for the first time in ages. Suddenly, her voice seemed much too loud. Everyone looked up at her. Of course, they were understanding. Still, she felt the need to add: "I'll come back. To see if…" Her face fell somewhat, and she looked back at Cameron. Her expression was heavy. "If something changes, can you call me?" she requested.

Dina, still sitting up close near Cameron's head, turned to fish her phone out of her pocket. "Give me your number," she said. "Cameron has it, but…"

She nodded. Wordlessly, she took the device and created a new contact. She handed it back and started to say: "I'll try and get them to understand—"

A tiny shift took whatever she was trying to say and rendered it completely unimportant. It wasn't much at all; it was just a tiny wrinkling of the blankets. But the second it reached her ears, she, along with everyone else, whirled around at once. All eyes went to Cameron, and his left arm— the one covered in wires. He'd moved it. Barely, but he'd moved it. And again, it twitched, like he was wanting to pick it up off the bed. His forehead was creasing, as if in pain, or confusion. Gunter was on his feet at once and rushing to the foot of the bed. Jordan was jumping off the windowsill and practically tripping over himself to get closer.

"Cameron?" Dina asked. Her voice was overly soft and gentle. Probably just as a means of trying to cover up the fact she was so worried. Her concern was there behind the initial layer, like a ghost. Cameron's forehead creased again, a little sharper this time, and his eyes began to flicker. It was taking painstaking effort to get them to open. "Cameron, can you hear me?" Dina pressed. She scooted even closer, if such a thing was even possible. "You're in the hospital, Cameron. Are you awake?" He didn't reply. "Cameron, are you hearing me?"

Finally, he succeeded in opening his eyes. They didn't open much; they only got about halfway. His usually-bright gaze was replaced now with something dull and confused. It wasn't him at all. It was someone entirely different. Even when he managed this feat, though, he didn't react to what Dina was saying at all; he didn't even react to that fact that everyone was there and staring at him. Did he even know? Could he connect the dots? If he couldn't, was that normal? Dina started to open her mouth and try again, when his eyes slid numbly down to his left wrist, where his IV and monitors were connected.

This seemed to spark in him some life. But it wasn't anything at all what they wanted. His arm twitched again, a little more noticeable now, as he tried to put more effort into moving it. His eyes opened a little more, and they all stiffened when they realized it wasn't because he was just slowly waking up. The attention was stemming from something like fear. He looked scared. He tried to pull his arm towards himself; if he was awake and aware, it looked like he would be yanking it around, ripping everything out in the process. Now, he could only shift it weakly.

Somehow, that was even worse.

"Nnn— no," he managed, his lips barely twitching. He could barely be heard, both because of the mask he was wearing, and because his voice was so weak in itself. He tried to pull harder. His other arm moved awkwardly too, like he wanted to reach over and help get himself out. Get himself free. Dina's stomach clenched at the sight. She felt like she was going to be sick. "Nnnnno, not— no…" His heart was beginning to beat faster— he was starting to panic. The nurses would rush in soon, if things escalated.

Dina was the first to snap into motion. Everyone else was just staring at Cameron like they'd never seen him before. "Cameron, Cameron, stop," she pleaded. She put a hand down on the arm he was trying to move, keeping her touch gentle, as well as her voice. For a few more seconds, Cameron still fought to try and get the wires off of him, panicking more and more. "Cameron, look at me!" He did. He stilled, and his head fell more to the side, so he could see her. She waited tensely, her chest aching as fuzzy recognition sparked in the very back of his eyes. She forced herself to soften, and smile. "You're in the hospital, Cameron," she soothed. "You're going to be fine. You're going to be just fine. There's nothing wrong, here."

"Hospital?" The echo was slow, every letter seeming to drag on for too long. His eyes fluttered closed, like he couldn't keep them open for very long. He still tried to force them back open, though.

"You're safe," she reassured softly. "You're safe now. I promise."

He exhaled slowly. His head fell back front. When he got his eyes open a second time, it took more effort. But he could see the others now, or at least he could recognize that they were there in general. He blinked slowly, so much so that it was more like he was closing his eyes for three full seconds. But then he focused on Kay. Maybe it was because she was the second-closest person to him. Or maybe it was because he was aware enough to seek her out on purpose. But she could hardly make out his ragged whisper. "'M sorry…"

The apology punched her in the stomach. She was caught off-guard. Something in her chest tore, in a way that she didn't quite want to feel. Hearing this, coupled with the sight in front of her, it was a miracle she brought herself to reply. But it came almost at once. "Don't be," she said, her voice unnaturally kind. "Don't be sorry, Cameron, it'll be fine."

He mumbled something under his breath too quiet to make out, or maybe it was just nonsense to begin with. He closed his eyes. He was exhausted, despite how long he'd slept. They all watched him in silence, giving him the space he needed to try and sort through everything, if that was even possible at the moment. He looked like he was falling back asleep. Like this was just a random burst of consciousness he wouldn't remember later. But it was alright. The important part was that they had gotten a glimpse of their friend again. A surefire answer that at the very least, he could still wake up, and react, even if it was slow.

"Wh—" Everything took much too long to get out. Dina didn't even realize it, but she was still holding on to his arm. She wasn't sure if this gesture was for him, or if it was more for her. He was barely even whispering; he was near impossible to hear. But at the same time, the next question he asked was impossible for them not to. Even Gunter knew what it was, where he stood at the far end. Even his expression flashed over with pain. "Where's…Johnny?" Cameron breathed.

Nobody answered him. They couldn't.

But Cameron couldn't press more. He couldn't even look at them again. He was too far gone. His breathing deepened, and his expression relaxed into sleep once more. He fell unconscious, and once again that silence swarmed forward to swallow the room whole.

He fell asleep again and left them all to look at one another, completely at a loss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the larger break between this chapter and the last one! Writing this and Rationale at the same time, both averaging twenty-five pages an update is a lot a lot of work, so I hope the length at least makes up for the gap. That being said, I will continue to write both of them this way as long as people want me to keep doing so! I've said it multiple times and I'll stand by it that as long as people read, I will keep throwin' out chapters!  
> I hope you like this one and it's worth the wait! I put a lot of research and effort into it to make it as realistic as possible, if there are any flaws or errors I'd sure love to fix 'em. Along with typos, too, I always go through and edit but some always manage to slip under me. It's a lot of pages to read over and over again for the little ones lol. But I sure hope it's good enough! I did my best. If there's another chapter, I have a lot planned for it, a lot more about Jonathan establishing himself more, and actually figuring out where MW is. The real nitty-gritty. All that fun stuff.  
> Thank you to everyone who has read and commented so far, you all are so lovely! And thank you to everyone for being so patient. I really hope you like it! <3

It's an old saying that things would always be better in the morning.

And it could be about anything at all. When you were sick, your parents always told you that if you went to sleep, by the time you woke up you might feel just the tiniest bit better. When you were upset and exhausted, you'd run upstairs to your room and throw yourself down on your bed, resigning to just ending the day early because surely tomorrow couldn't possibly be as bad. If it was storming, you could curl up underneath your blankets and trust that by the time you opened your eyes again, the clouds would be gone, and the sun would be back.

Things looked better in the light of day. Things were brighter, when the sun was there.

At least, that's what people always said.

Jonathan had always thought it was a pile of shit.

He woke up slowly, and reluctantly. Like he was being dragged back into awareness by his ankles, against his will. His eyes cracked open, bleary and unfocused, and aching from the night before. He was laying down on his side, draped uncomfortably over the center console of the car. There was a splitting pain centered in his back and his ribs. A sick feeling was already twisting his stomach, but as the stiffness in his body became more and more apparent, it only tripled.

At first, he was too disoriented to remember what was going on. For a couple blissful seconds, it seemed like that saying could actually be true. He felt the pain but couldn't recall why it was there. It almost could have been anything. It could have been him waking up from a long night out celebrating after a show. It could have been him waking up when the car had stopped, because Cameron wanted to stop at yet another gas station to get his fiftieth bag of M&Ms. In the initial moments where his eyes cracked open and his brain had yet to come alive, he lingered in this haze and just stared straight ahead…in the closest thing to peace he'd felt in ages.

But then it came back. It hit him like a brick, and he jerked, his eyes flying wider as he blinked to try and clear away the fog. He pushed himself up quickly, gritting his teeth against the stiffness in his joints. He rubbed his eyes, squinting against the light outside. At first, he was confused. He didn't even remember stopping, and yet here he was. The puzzlement was cleared at least a little bit, when he reached for the ignition and tried to turn the key. Nothing happened— the car was completely dead. He'd driven as far as he could for as long as he could, and apparently the gas had finally run out. It was only a matter of time, but still…he closed his eyes tightly at the wave of frustration that slammed into him.

He kept trying, as if gas might magically appear after the fifth time he yanked on the key. But apparently magic didn't work like that, because he still came up empty. There was nothing left. He closed his eyes again and hit the steering wheel in anger, ducking his head and shaking it. But he only sat there festering in his emotions for a few short moments. Before he finally caught up to himself all the way, and he looked up again, his expression changing. The morning might not have made anything better, but it did bring with itself a little bit of clarity. If that was the right word, anyway.

He was slowed down, now. After the sparse amount of hours he'd slept, he was drained of every bit of the adrenaline that had been pumping through him the night before. His head was clear. His grief was still there— if anything, it had multiplied on itself. But it was like a wound that he'd somehow managed to stop bleeding; even though it wasn't killing him anymore, it was gaping. It was raw, and he could barely breathe around it. But now that it wasn't gushing…he could slow down and think. As surreal as it was, he had the smallest bit of his rationality back. Or at least something close to it.

He looked at the clock on the dashboard, and his heart sank at the time that stared back at him. It wasn't really all that helpful, though, considering he didn't even remember what time he'd pulled over and given up on trying to stay awake in the first place. It had been light out, he knew that much. And it was still light out now, though that was bound to change, soon. He hadn't slept much at all, but he shouldn't have even slept to begin with. Sleeping was too dangerous— what if he hadn't woken up for hours? What if someone had seen him? The entire thing could have fallen apart because he had chosen to take a nap.

_Stupid. Idiot. I'm such a fucking idiot._

' _Stop_. You were tired; it's  _okay_. You were just tired, and you're  _still_  tired. _Call_  someone. Call Dina. Call Gunter— you can put a stop to all of this, and you can get back home before anything else happens! You can sleep, you can  _eat_ , you can say that you're sorry and that you didn't mean for—'

He shook his head to clear it. Looking out the window, Jonathan realized that at least his exhausted self had managed to pick a decent place to stop. Decent being a loose word, but right about now the bar was set pretty low for such a description. If he was going to screw up anywhere, it might as well be here, would be a better way of saying it, probably. He had absolutely no idea where he was, and this was part of the reason: it literally looked like he was in the middle of nowhere. Trees lined either side of the road— he was pulled over so far that the car was propped awkwardly against the tiny ridge separating the forest from everything else. He stared out for a while but didn't see anyone ever go by. For some reason, he was showing a talent for finding these back roads. And he'd take that, he guessed. It's something.

He exhaled heavily, his eyes flickering this way and that in blatant indecision. He had millions of plans. More than millions. For the past year, Jonathan had spent nearly the entirety of his days just fantasizing about what he would do to escape from prison. They were detailed plans, with everything thought out and premeditated. The only reason he hadn't ever actually carried anything out had always been because of Cameron. Because of the disappointment in his brother's face whenever it was so much as hinted at, or the genuine regret in his voice when he'd said gently: "Being on the run isn't a way to live, Johnny."

Remembering that now caused his heart to tear in two.

 _That_  was why he'd never actually escaped. Done this.

Now that he was here, the plans were at his fingertips.

But in none of the plans had he anticipated something like this happening. Nothing even  _close_  to this situation had ever even occurred to him. In fact…Jonathan had never in his entire life thought of the future as something that existed without Cameron. Not in actuality. He had feared it in little moments, like when a trick backfired and his brother was severely hurt. In sparse moments of terror, the thought had occurred. But the thought always stopped there. There was nothing after the terror, the fear, the pain. That was all it was, before things resolved and Jonathan quickly and hastily could shove the thought aside. He would never get further than that point. He never could bring himself to think of arrangements, of funerals, of  _living on in general_ without the person, come hell or high water, he had lived his entire life beside.

Now, here he was. Knee-deep in it, and entirely unprepared.

He had plans upon plans of evading the police and dodging jail…but every single one of those plans had involved Cameron. If not as a partner, then as a last resort. Someone to go to if he  _absolutely needed_ it, because, despite everything, he knew Cam would be there for him if he needed him to. He hadn't thought of this. He hadn't thought of how he would handle his brother's murder. What he would do to the woman responsible. _How_  he would do it. All the while evading police. So now he was completely lost. He had no idea what he was doing— he had to think on his toes. He had to force his mind, sluggish from both exhaustion and grief, to actually kick into gear and work.

Jonathan took in a deep breath that shivered on its way down. He tore his gaze away from the road and turned to scan the car instead. Something…he needed something— maybe something could be in here. In the glovebox, under the seats, in the trunk…

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She had been in hot water before. It wasn't a foreign feeling to her, as a well-seasoned agent of the FBI. Trouble was always present. And over the years, she had grown to tackle the intimidating prospect flawlessly. She knew how to hold her head high despite the weight of blame that was pressing on her chest. She knew how to keep herself steady and logical and control her voice so it didn't waver or hitch in the face of a challenge. She knew how to slow herself down and think through the issue at hand, and make sure that whatever it was that put her in this position was handled in turn.

She knew how to tread hot water.

But she had also never been in this type before. This wasn't just hot water— it was  _scalding_.

The moment Kay walked into the briefing room, she could feel it like a chokehold. And it only got worse when all eyes went to her at once. On impulse, she tried to sort through the crowd and find Mike, if only to reach a friendly face. But no sooner did she find him, did she find someone else standing right at his side. And at once, it was about ten times as difficult to keep herself controlled and wiped of emotion. Agent Deakin's face was contorted in anger and disappointment, and about a million other different things that only grew severer when Kay made her way forward. To all her credit, underneath the withering stare, her steps didn't falter in the slightest.

She didn't speak at first, leaving Deakins space she could use to spit out whatever furious words were lined up on the tip of her tongue. Words that would hurt, but would be entirely warranted at the same time, Kay knew. But nothing came. Deakins was silent. Maybe there was nothing she could say, maybe she was too angry in this instant to get it out. Whatever the reason was, Kay found herself dragging her gaze over to Mike's instead, when nothing else was offered. "Anything?" Her question was a mere exhale.

Mike's gaze flickered between the two woman, clearly just as perplexed as Kay was. After a heartbeat, he shook himself and cleared his throat. "Err— yes. A car was reported stolen. A gray Volkswagen, from a younger girl. We brought her in to ask her for more details, but she didn't see who it was. She'd been walking back to her car and they'd grabbed her from behind. But she said it was definitely a man. It wasn't near the museum, but it would make sense if that was Jonathan. The license plate number is—"

"I knew this is what would happen." Kay closed her eyes as Deakins finally collected herself enough to speak. Her voice was practically choked with anger. All the same, she turned to her, already having anticipated this. "I knew it from the very second you brought him here that there would be nothing but trouble. I knew that whatever could be gained from him wouldn't be worth it, but I allowed you to convince me otherwise, and now look at where we are." If looks could kill, Kay would be long dead.

"You convinced me to allow Cameron onto this team," she continued furiously. Kay bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from interrupting. "You convinced me to allow a  _civilian_ , with absolutely  _no_  training whatsoever, access to top-secret files and government buildings, because you said that we needed him. And what's more, is when that civilian was taken, I allowed you to pull a  _convicted murderer_  out of prison to help find him because you convinced me on that as well. Now we have a runaway prisoner, which is what I knew would happen the very second he was allowed the tiniest bit of freedom! This entire time you've been persuading me that you know best, but it's obvious that that couldn't be further from the truth! This entire situation is your fault, Daniels!"

Kay waited once again, in case there was more. When Deakins only went back to scowling at her, though, she figured she was in the clear to speak. And speak she did, after the tiniest of hesitations to collect her thoughts and organize them. "We  _did_  need Cameron," she objected steadily, trying to ignore the rage that flared to life again in her superior's eyes. She kept herself as level as possible. "He's helped us solve cases that otherwise would have been classified as dead-ends. Without the help he gave—"

"Help he would give to anyone, apparently," Deakins snapped, before she could finish. Kay grimaced and looked off to the side. "That's why agents need training, need proper authorization— so we can _trust_  them. Cameron Black had none of that, and what does he do the very  _second_ something else comes up? He switches sides, without so much as a second thought. You're still standing here defending him, but the very instant he thought someone else could help his brother  _more_  than you could, what was he doing?" She hated how the way the question sat like a rock in her stomach. "He was helping this woman he's apparently been bent on taking down, steal a diamond worth millions."

She shook her head. "You're clouded by emotion, Kay," she snapped. "And your judgement is impaired because of that." She opened her mouth to object, but Deakins wasn't allowing her the chance to. "You care about him— you were swayed by him, and now, even when the evidence is right in front of you, you refuse to see it. He  _abandoned_  this team. He put his own needs before everyone else's. You are the reason he was here in the first place. And you're the reason Jonathan Black is out in the public now."

"The only reason he is, is because he thinks Cameron is dead," Kay reasoned. It was clear Deakins wasn't a fan of the effort, but she kept going anyway. "He went out to find the mystery woman because he blames her for his brother's death— he won't hurt anyone other than her, I'm sure of it. And once we find him, and we let him know Cameron is alright, he'll come back. This situation is one that can be handled easily. If we act quickly enough before he swaps out cars, we can track his license plate number and—"

"Kay, you're off this case." Both her and Mike went rigid at Deakins' interruption. She ignored them entirely. "You're too involved in this. You have too much bias, and you caused this issue in the first place. No. I'm removing you."

"Y-You can't!" she objected. "You have to let me fix—"

"You brought him here as it is!" Deakins snapped. "If it wasn't for you, we would have a murderer where he belongs behind bars, and we wouldn't be risking our integrity as a team for allowing a civilian access to—"

"Cameron didn't abandon us!" She couldn't keep the argument from slipping past her lips. Deakins soured with distaste. In the moment, Kay didn't care. "The woman was forcing him to help her, likely under gunpoint. He didn't have an option, it was either help her or die! And in the end, he didn't even help her, he stole the diamond for himself— he had it in his back pocket, Mike brought it back! But if he'd had the chance to, he would have brought it back _himself_ , to  _you_. Cameron is  _loyal_  to the FBI; he's done nothing but help you and everyone else here as best he can. Just like I have. He's helped us with a number of cases, but he can help with  _this_ case the  _most_. He  _knows_  Jonathan; he could know where he's heading, what he's thinking— the very second that Jonathan  _sees_ him, this will all be over."

Deakins kept her lips pursed. She said nothing.

Mike was watching anxiously, completely silent. Kay would be lying if she said that she didn't feel just as apprehensive. She took in a slow breath and tried to press, her voice becoming just a little bit softer this time. "Please," she implored. "Don't take me off this case. Don't take  _either of us_ off this case."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron continued to sleep. He didn't rouse at his name, or even any touches. He was dead to the world, and they all would have feared that to be the case had it not been for his heart monitor faithfully reminding them that it was not. But even that was difficult to trust, sometimes. Every staff member assured them that long-term unconsciousness after cardiac arrest was perfectly normal, and that they were watching him carefully. They ran tests and administered medications and checked on him frequently. All the while repeating the same phrases. 'He's coming along well.' 'Don't worry.' 'He's in good hands.' 'We just need to give him a bit more time.' Which was all well and good, for protocol's sake. But for the team's sake, and for their sanity, the broken record only made the situation worse.

He had tiny bursts of consciousness, sometimes. A burst that was so small and short-lived that it probably couldn't even really be considered one in the first place. He had moments were his breathing would hitch just a little bit, as if in fear or in pain— something that made every person in the room immediately lock up in panic, no matter how many times it happened, as all three instantly expected him to stop breathing altogether. For the monitor to flatline. But he would always regularize after the stutter and relax again. They would all heave a collective sigh of relief.

Sometimes he would mumble something, too— they could never tell if he was awake and just too weak to open his eyes, or if he was just saying something in his sleep, because when they spoke back to him he never reacted. A couple times, Dina had put her ear close to try and hear what he was saying. However, the mask he was wearing made it impossible. She'd thought, at one point, she'd heard the word 'test' but she was certain she had to be mistaken— it made no sense.

It hurt her more than she expected, not being able to understand him.

But not as much as it hurt to see him try and move. And he did, in tiny increments, every so often. Each effort was small and barely-there, but every effort was also the same. Just like before, whenever enough awareness would leak back into his system, Cameron would try and move his arm only to feel the tension holding him in place by the wires in his skin. In reaction, he would always revert back to that muddled and barely-there sense of panic, and he would try and pull his arm free. Once, he even tried to drag his other arm into motion just so he could reach over and tear it all out.

He was never aware of what he was doing. His eyes still never opened. Dina, remaining the closest to him, would always react in time, before he could hurt himself, or mess anything up. She would reach over at any sign of movement, and gently but firmly hold his arm down. "Cameron, no," she'd chastise over and over again, nothing in her voice but extreme sorrow and pain. "It's fine; you're alright. Everything's alright, darling." And once she'd say that, he would calm back down again, and stop trying to yank his way free. Eventually, Dina just took to holding his hand, intertwining their fingers so that she was there to stop him even before he could wrench his arm this way or that way.

That was how it went for what felt like forever. Other than Cameron's incoherent mumbling every so often, or the sound of the monitors, the room was fairly silent. There wasn't much to say. It was all there, hanging in the air like dead weights. It's just that nobody was brave enough to actually reach out and try to test their strength. Not directly. Whatever was spoken was stiff and short. Around two, Gunter asked Dina if she would want anything from the cafeteria if he went down to get something. She'd softly mumbled that she wasn't hungry. Gunter had nodded and left, without even glancing in Jordan's direction.

Once upon a time, everything had been perfect. Once upon a time, if someone had told any of them this is where they would be in the future, they likely all would have laughed them off and dismissed it all. They used to be a well-oiled machine. A close-knit family. They used to spend every night together— if it wasn't them working to plan for another show, it was just them up late watching a movie or laughing about something that had happened that day. Once upon a time, things had worked— things had been nice. After that night in Vegas, everything had derailed, bit by slow bit. Jonathan had been dragged away into prison, Cameron had become more and more undone with each passing day, disappearing for longer and longer stretches of time in the effort to try and figure out what to do to help him get out.

Now Jonathan was missing, and Cameron had legally died for well over five minutes. His outlook unsure.

Their future as a team has already been a question mark.

Now they were just tacking on more and more.

Seven o'clock was rolling around. Dina was still holding to Cameron's hand, but now she was reaching out, delicately fixing Cameron's hair the way she used to do during every commercial break of their specials. He'd never reacted to her, then, either. But now, his lack of response was a knife to her heart. Gunter was pacing— he'd been pacing for half an hour. Jordan was still sitting in the windowsill; he hadn't moved all day. It was his own personal banishment, almost. His stare was heavy and miserable. He was staring at the rain that was battering against the glass…most likely so he wouldn't have to turn and see Cameron.

Gunter was looking over at Jordan every so often, each time his stare filling with clear and defined rage. When he broke the silence, his voice was clenched tight with it. It was a miracle he was keeping himself composed. "Has Kay said anything?" he demanded. Dina just shook her head, still trying to stay engrossed with the task of fixing Cameron's hair. If she focused on that enough, it made everything else easier. And his hair was plenty a mess to figure out. Gunter scowled, shaking his head as he went back to pacing. "What in the world is she doing!? Does she think we're alright with just sitting here, twiddling our thumbs!?"

"I'm sure she's doing all she can," Dina murmured. "We can't expect her to drop everything and—"

"We're not asking her to drop everything!" he snapped, and she pursed her lips once she was interrupted. Jordan shifted uneasily, tucking tighter to himself as he leaned to put his forehead against the glass. "We're asking her to tell us what's happening! The very second that Cameron saw that news segment on the television, we've thrown our lot in with them! We've done everything— investigations, elaborate tricks— I think at this point we're entitled to a little more explanation!" He shook his head. "What have we gotten in return for helping them?" he demanded. Dina kept her eyes fixated on Cameron, though she couldn't ignore the fact that her heart grew to be about ten times heavier. "Just a lot of free work and help!"

"You don't believe that," Dina argued softly.

"You don't think I do!?" he demanded. "We've helped them for months! And Jonathan is still in prison! And Kay had to practically  _beg_  for them to help find Cameron in the first place— they didn't want to  _waste the man power_!" He snorted in derision, shaking his head again as he turned and started for the other wall again. "And how do you think all of this is going to go over!? Once they track Jonathan down, they'll shove him right back into prison, no questions asked— and it'll be a miracle if they even want to keep helping him after this stunt! Cameron will be shoved off, too, after he helped the mystery woman!" He was absolutely livid. "They'll drop all of us without a second thought— that's what they're doing right now!"

"Kay would never let that happen," Dina argued, but the response was hollow.

Gunter threw Jordan an angered scowl. "This might have been different if we'd known sooner," he spat. "We could have done something to stop all this."

Jordan closed his eyes. His voice was defeated when he replied. "He asked me not to tell, Gunter." He just repeated what he'd been saying this entire time. "There's nothing else I could have done."

He scoffed, practically seething. "And you were stupid enough to listen to him," he snapped. Before Jordan could try and collect himself enough for a proper response, he was plowing on. He spoke fast, and without thinking. That much was clear when he demanded scathingly: "What are you going to do if he wakes up and isn't the same?" Jordan did turn at this, and his eyes flickered down to Cameron. The look on his face was answer enough already, and Dina flared as she shot Gunter a warning look. But it was useless. "What are you going to do if he wakes up and can't even tie his own shoes!? You'll be singing a different song, then, I'd wager."

"Gunter," Dina said sharply. "Don't—"

"It's not my fault he called and asked me not to tell anyone else!" Jordan cried, his shoulders tightening. "I  _wanted_ to tell you, but—"

"But you wanted to impress him more!" Gunter completed scornfully. "You  _never_ use your head! You always just do what's easiest for you, you don't—"

"I did what was best for Cameron and Jonathan!" Jordan shouted. He was standing up from the windowsill, now. "You're right, the FBI  _hasn't_  been helping with Jonathan's case— if I kept quiet, there was a chance that Cameron could get him out! And now you're going to stand there and yell at me like that isn't something you would have wanted—"'

"That's right! You certainly did what was best for them!" he crowed mockingly. Jordan snapped his mouth closed, locking his jaw backwards. Gunter jabbed a finger down at Cameron in the hospital bed. "Is this what's best for him!?" he demanded. Jordan had to look away. "Is this a step up from where we were!?  _You_ helped do this—  _you_! This is  _your_ fault, because you knew this was going on and you just didn't tell us! So by all means, go on and say that you had everything under control— everything figured out! You can keep trying to pretend like your hands are clean, but Dina and I know exactly what you did! Everyone does! You lied to us! And you kept what was happening with Cameron a secret so we couldn't do anything for him! And you were part of the reason he suffocated on the other side of that door!  _That's_  the truth!"

His eyes were bright with undisguised anger. By the time he was finished yelling, he was nearly out of breath. He let his arm drop down limp to his side, and he glared at Jordan with enough fire to burn him out on the spot. Jordan's expression was drawn and empty with misery; when Gunter was finished, he said absolutely nothing. His eyes went briefly to Cameron. Flashing bright with pain, they went next over to Dina. But she was silent. She only held his gaze for a brief moment, before she looked away again.

However, no sooner did she start to turn aside, did her eyes catch on something else. Some _one_ else, standing in the doorway. Immediately, her stomach dropped, and her face fell right along with it. Kay stood in the entryway of the room, her expression pinched and heavy. Her hands were clenched tightly in front of her. Dina had no idea how long she had been standing there but judging by the look that was on her face, it had been long enough. Gunter turned a half a second after Dina did, and he sobered as well, once he saw her standing there.

Silence was heavy and awkward in the air. Kay trained her eyes on the floor, but she only hesitated a couple of moments before she walked inside. Her footsteps seemed to echo. "I'm…sorry I didn't come sooner, I was trying to—"

"Have you found Jonathan?" Gunter demanded. Again, Dina glared at him.

Kay blinked. The look on her face was hard to read, and she stared straight ahead, like she was trying to see through the wall. When she eventually spoke, it wasn't to offer an answer. Her voice was hollow, and she barely let it get out much in the first place. "I was taken off the case," she murmured. Immediately, the other three stiffened. Their eyes widened, and it looked like Gunter was already opening his mouth to yell something out. She went on quickly before he could get the chance. "I tried to reason with them. But…this is all my fault. It's my fault Cameron was there in the first place to help with the heist. It was my persuading that got Jonathan out of prison and now he's on the run. I was told…I'm too involved with everything going on. They told me they won't need my services going forward."

"That's ridiculous!" Dina blustered. "Cameron didn't even help MW, he stole the diamond himself!"

"They don't care," Kay exhaled. "They still don't want me involved going forward. Too much has happened. I tried to fight the decision, but it was already decided."

"So…so we can't be involved, either?" Jordan demanded. Kay was their link to the FBI— if she was cut off, wasn't it the same for them? "We can't help find Jonathan?  _Cameron_ can't help find Jonathan?" Kay only pressed her lips together tightly. The answer was plain on her face. He moved to sit with his back against the window, letting his legs dangle over the side of the ledge. "Cameron is the best person  _to_ find him! Without Cameron, you might as well be wandering around with a blindfold on!"

For once, Gunter wasn't arguing. "I can't believe this," he growled, shaking his head and turning away like he didn't even have the patience to look at her. "This is stupid, is what this is! This entire thing is stupid! What do they think is going to happen!? They're throwing away the only—"

"Gunter, I agree with you," Kay tried to interject. "I  _agree_ , I  _told_  them that they were making a mistake, but it's just—"

"But there's nothing you can do," he spat, the growl filled with derision. "Seems like recently, when it comes to us, there's a  _whole lot that you can't do_."

Her own voice hardened. "If you would just  _listen to me_  instead of—"

"No, Kay!" he yelled. "Oddly enough, I'm not in the mood to listen to you! To your excuses! Cameron never gave you  _any_ excuses, for  _anything_! So how come you have the nerve to—"

"Cameron?"

The second Dina spoke, not to them, but down to the hospital bed, Kay and Gunter shut up at once. They turned at the same time, to follow her gaze which was now stricken with emotion. Jordan hopped off the windowsill, anxiously skittering forward so he could see him too. Sure enough, he was rousing, bit by slow bit. His forehead creased over in fuzzy pain as he pried his eyes open; once he started to manage it, Dina felt a tear in her chest as she realized that there was a certain light to them that hadn't been there yet. However tiny it was, it was a sense of clarity. A sense of his old self, she hadn't realized she had so achingly missed until right this moment.

A tiny mumble escaped him again, still unable to be deciphered thanks to its volume and the oxygen mask that was still on his face. Dina was holding fast to his hand— that hadn't changed, either. And sure enough, when he started to wake up, the first thing he felt must have been the IVs, because he started to try and move his arm away from it. The habit was well-anticipated by now, and Dina only held tighter to him, leaning over and trying to get his attention. "Cameron, are you awake?" He closed his eyes in a tiny cringe at the voice, but she relaxed as she saw him work to get them back open again. "Cameron? Darling, you're in the hospital. Can you hear me? Can you look at me?"

He blinked groggily, and dragged his head over to the side, to look in the direction of her voice. He was coming back to himself, and it was slow going, but he was trying all the same. His gaze eventually found hers and locked, and she softened when she saw warm recognition leak into it. Her chest grew hot with mingled relief and happiness. However, her voice still tried to retain a reproachful edge. "You terrified us, Cameron," she chastised. "Your heart stopped— we thought you were dead. We thought we lost you."

Cameron was coming back around; however, he was still muddled and bleary. But once Dina was through, and just took to staring at him with a heavy expression, he did something very distinctly  _himself_. He lifted the edges of his mouth upwards into a grin, and he flashed her a smile that was nothing but cheeky. His eyes closed tiredly when he did, but the grin stayed put. Dina scoffed, her own expression unable to resist breaking out into a beam. Tears were bright in her eyes when she reached out and shoved his arm lightly. "Don't you dare!" she snapped, and Cameron just grinned wider. "Don't you  _dare_  smile, Cameron Black! You're horrible— you're absolutely  _horrible_!"

Kay's expression was soft, and both Gunter's and Jordan's were overwhelmed with relief. Almost fully aware now, Cameron turned his head and realized for the first time that Dina wasn't the only one there. He looked between each person there and looked as though he was almost through collecting himself. His blue eyes went from Jordan, to Gunter, and they stopped on Kay. They faltered on her for some reason, and the look on his face wasn't distinguishable at all. She found herself wilting at the reaction. Though at the last second, she remembered herself and gave him a smile. "I'm glad you're okay, Cameron," she offered, her voice much quieter than normal.

Cameron kept staring at her in that odd way. Her chest grew tighter and tighter the longer she held the gaze and was unable to figure it out. It looked like something was wrong. Like a puzzle piece wasn't fitting, but Cameron couldn't figure out why because it looked like the sides were supposed to match up. The others were watching intently now, having picked up on the subtle change. Nobody spoke— they were leaving room for Cameron to do this himself, and he did so eventually, after what felt like ten years of silence.

When he did speak, it didn't matter that he was wearing the mask over his mouth, or that it wasn't much more than a small croak. Because the very second he said it, Kay's heart was leaping up to lodge in her throat and choke her. The instant the words passed his lips, she was freezing and locking into place, complete shock slapping her across the face at the sincerity she could hear in his tone. "Who are you?" And it was then that she could recognize the confused look on his face as the look someone would wear if they were meeting someone. For the very first time.

She said nothing; she didn't even blink. Jordan weakened at once, his knees nearly buckling; he reached out to catch himself on the hospital bed's railing and steady himself. Dina was still holding Cameron's hand, and with the question, she squeezed even tighter. Gunter's expression was clouding with a storm of emotions much too thick to piece apart entirely. There was rage, and sorrow, and betrayal, and remorse, and guilt, and—

"Stop! Wait,  _stop_ — I was joking!" Cameron squeaked, his eyes flying wide at the sharp and sudden reactions. Kay jerked up in a straighten, not realizing how much her expression had betrayed her until she realized she'd been staring at him in something way too close to horror. He looked more than shocked at her response. And his nervous smile only grew faster when she immediately started to scowl. "I'm sorry, I just— you looked so—  _ouch_!" He'd started to try and shift as if to pull himself up in bed more – he'd shifted downward in his sleep – when the simple motion caused pain to lance straight up his side. He ended in a harsh yell, closing his eyes tightly and hissing as he flattened himself back against the mattress. "Why—?"

" _I'm going to_ punch _you!_ " Gunter practically roared, and Cameron's eyes snapped open with a certain kind of alarm that made it seem like he wasn't entirely sure the threat was empty. Nobody else was, either, though. "You complete  _moron_ ,  _why would you— no, why would you do_ any of this _!?_ " Kay started to try and interject and say something. When she realized that Cameron's expression had receded into a tiny grin. His expression was nothing but fond, and looking at Gunter, Kay realized that underneath the initial façade of anger, there was just sheer relief. " _You're the stupidest person I've ever met on this planet, Cameron Black. You're annoying, and you're irritating, and you're not a good driver Cameron because you're always looking at Waze because you don't know where anything is no matter where you are or how long you've been there, and don't even get me_ started _on the fact you can't cook to save your life, because_ I remember _the time you broke the microwave trying to make Spaghetti-O's Cameron, I know you want everyone else to forget about it, but here I am, making sure that's—"_

"Excuse me!" That same young girl from the night before was rushing in, still in the same uniform, and still wearing that awkward and alarmed look on her face. When everyone turned to look at her, she stumbled a little bit, and only seemed to weaken more. Her hands clasped in front of her, and she seemed ten seconds away from just turning right around and walking away without breaking stride. But she steeled herself and addressed Gunter anxiously. "Sir, I'm afraid I can't have you yelling, there are other patients that are trying—"

She broke off abruptly as her eyes caught on Cameron. She did a double-take as she turned, completely forgetting the reason she'd come in in the first place. "You're awake!" she squealed, and Cameron seemed confused. Kay's stomach clenched as she saw his eyes flicker first to the clock, then to the whiteboard on the wall opposite his bed. He zeroed in on the first two lines that were written in bright purple dry erase marker. The first being 'Welcome to the ICU!' with two little smiley faces to back up the greeting, and the second being the date. And immediately, shock was there to flare across his expression. The technician was oblivious to it, apparently, because all she said next was an odd plea of: "Can I take your vitals?"

Which was probably something they were supposed to do in the first place, but for some reason was now coming off more like she'd actually said, 'Can I have your autograph?'

Silence swallowed the space behind this request. Kay began to sober the more Cameron's confusion began to grow. He was looking from the whiteboard to everyone else, and then he looked down at himself, apparently fully aware of it all now. He reached up and took the mask off his face, to which the technician wilted and tried to object to. But he wasn't listening. "What happened?" he rasped. The more he woke up, the more rushed back to him and added to his alarm. "T— the vault, I was…the mystery woman— did you get her?" The group only looked at him sadly, which was answer enough. But he still kept on despite it. "I didn't give her the diamond, I didn't help her— but you got her, didn't you?  _Didn't you_?" He looked around to each person, and it was then that twenty times as much alarm managed to cram itself into his gaze. " _Where's Jonathan_?"

Kay turned to the technician. "Can you give us a moment? Please."

The young employee stared awkwardly for a second, before she remembered herself and inhaled sharply. "Oh— yes, yeah, I can…yes, I'll give you a moment. Um— I'll be back…in like, an hour, because I really do need to take his vitals. But. Yes, I can…take everyone else's vitals first, and then— come back, yup. Okay." They were all more than ready for her to turn and leave, and Gunter made a point to shut the door behind her once she finally did. He specifically seemed to have less patience for her. Though he wasn't really known as a tolerable person to begin with.

When they all steeled themselves and looked back at Cameron, everything was still building. Before anyone could decide to be the bravest one there and start the dialogue, he was demanding again: " _What happened_?"

"You should put that mask back on, Cameron, you don't know—"

"Dina." His voice was flat. She stopped at once and bit the fret back.

Kay decided she was the best one here to take the baton. But she also knew that it would be more than difficult. She took in a slow breath, put on the armor for what she knew was waiting for her, and she began. "MW got away." Already, this got Cameron stiffening, and a mixed look of anger and disappointment to cloud his stare. He tried to interrupt her, but she purposefully sped on. "I caught her outside and got her face on the security camera. But when she told me that you were still in the vault, Cameron…I couldn't possibly have stayed there with her. I had no choice but to leave to try and help." He blinked rapidly, his forehead creasing as he closed his mouth. "She told me Jonathan had no idea it was you; I knew he'd get you out last, and I thought if I ran right then, I might make it…but I didn't." Her voice was saturated with regret. "It was my fault she got away. And I'm sorry about that. And…I'm sorry I didn't make it back to you in time, too."

Cameron just stared at her warily. Waiting.

"Obviously…you turned all the valves, but you lost consciousness before you could get the door open. We…thought it was over. But Jonathan wasn't about to give up— he was hitting the door and slamming against it, trying to dislodge you, and I think eventually it must have worked, because you fell, and the wheel spun the rest of the way." Cameron looked around the room again, like he was expecting Jonathan to be there once he looked twice. Like this time, he'd just be standing in the corner with a smile. But he still came up with nothing. "You had gone without oxygen for…way too long. We had to start CPR, just to try and bring you back. Thankfully the ambulance came at the very last second, and they were able to bring you back." She had to clear her throat. She spoke brisker when she went on. "You've been here ever since. Sleeping."

Still, he was waiting. This time she waited as well, for what she knew was going to come. "And…Jonathan?" he pressed.

She looked at the floor. Cameron turned to the others to see similar reactions. "He…was the first to run in to you and start compressions," Kay began slowly, just murmuring now. Cameron looked back, his expression clouding. "He was inconsolable. Panicked…he wasn't paying attention to anything else. Eventually he got too tired, and Gunter took over. From there, the paramedics came in, and they were giving you shocks, and…nobody was really thinking about anything  _other_  than you, so…" Cameron's eyebrows began to pull together. She closed her eyes to make delivering the news easier. "By the time you were resuscitated, he was gone. We turned around and he was nowhere to be found."

The words were hollow, and they fell like rocks.

Cameron's confusion was wiped completely. He straightened a little bit, and his eyes widened. Kay's stomach twisted as a smile started to come over his face. "He… _right_ ," he laughed, looking at her like she'd just informed her watermelons actually made very good wheels for a car. She only stared at him. He laughed again. "Right, he…just…where would he  _go_?" Again, he left a gap for her to wave the joke away. Uncertainty began to leak back into his gaze bit by bit. His smile faded. His voice was quieter when he repeated: "Where would he go? Why would he…why would he l _eave_? I don't…"

"We think…he went after MW," Kay explained. Cameron jerked, like she'd hit him. "He left before you were revived. Minutes were dragging by, nothing was happening, we all thought that you…" She shook her head. "We all thought you were dead, Cameron. Jonathan thought you died." Cameron's eyes widened even more. "And he must still think that…because we couldn't find him. He was just gone. We think he stole a car and got out of the city…he's going after her. He thinks she's responsible for you dying. Or…that's what we assume at the moment."

He was completely shocked, not able to get anything out at first. When he did, it was just a stutter. "Well— then— well then we just have to find him!" he blustered. "That's all you have to do, right? Find him and tell him I'm okay, why haven't you done that yet?" The way he asked this made it sound like he was asking a mom why she hadn't found her unruly son in the aisles of Toys R Us yet. Like it was that easy, even though it was the opposite. After working for so long with her on cases, he should have realized this. But right now he wasn't exactly pausing for rational thought.

Kay let out a slow breath. "The FBI is  _trying_ — they're putting as many people as they can on it, but…I was taken off the case."

" _What!?_ "

"It's my fault this happened in the first place. I was dismissed, for now."

"That's stupid!" Cameron snapped. "You didn't do anything, you— so wait, am I dismissed, too!?" At the look on her face, which already had the answer there for him to see, he became even more distressed. "I'm the person most capable of finding him!  _I'm_  who he needs to hear from, I'm—"

"Cameron, you helped MW with the heist," Kay got out with difficulty. "They're not going to—"

"I didn't have a choice!" he interrupted. "And I was trying to help Johnny, I can't— this isn't even—" His words were cutting off into flinches; each time, he took in a deep breath that made him cringe even more and tried to go on regardless. But this time the pain must have been too great. He flattened back against the hospital bed, his face creasing over in absolute agony as pain ripped up his side. He had to clamp his teeth to keep from screaming out. Dina stiffened with concern, and her eyes went to the call button for the nurse. But he was trying to breathe through it; the pain must have been blinding— he usually could take quite a lot of it without even a blink.

"Cameron, dear, calm down," Dina pleaded. "You're very hurt."

"M'fine," he exhaled quickly. He narrowed his eyes against it and kept his teeth gritted. Firmly, he shook his head. "I need to get out of here. I need to find Johnny. I don't need to be in here, I feel fine."

"You have two broken ribs," Jordan objected. Gunter shot him a glare that he tried to ignore as best he could. "So either our definitions of 'fine' are really different, or you're lying and you're just going to end up hurting yourself more."

"The FBI will find him, Cameron," Kay reassured. "Everything will be sorted out."

Cameron didn't seem all that enthused with the promise. "I'm not staying here," he repeated, louder this time. "I'm  _not_ staying here, I'm going to find my brother."

"Cameron, your ribs—" Dina tried.

But he cut her off. "So they can give me a brace or something! You can't do anything for broken ribs anyway, so why should I have to stay here?" He shook his head fast, and grimaced when the room spun because of it. "Jonathan's already doing something completely stupid by running in the first place, I have to stop him before he does something even worse. He was framed for her first murder, he can't actually  _pull off her second one_ , that'd really  _mess up_  my weekend plans." He started to push himself up, flinching deeply but waving Dina off when she tried to reach out. "Just hand me my clothes, help me up— I just need a little help getting—"

"Cameron, don't be ridiculous…or at least try to be  _less_ ridiculous," Dina begged.

"You won't solve anything hobbling around New York!" Gunter interjected.

"Am I solving anything just laying here?" Cameron demanded. "You should have woken me up sooner, I can't believe you let me sleep this long in the first place— who knows what he could have— what in the world is all of this?" he demanded, looking at his arm at the IV he was hooked to. "Do I need this? What is this? I probably don't need this—"

"Cameron!" He jumped a little at Kay's snap. Her expression was hard as she looked at him. "Think logically for a second. He's one person. With an entire team of specially-trained people out looking for him. In a stolen car, that can't get very far. They've been working on finding him ever since he ran off, and they're bound to be close to the answer of where he is. If they're not already closing in right now! He'll be found by morning, I can feel it. Just give it a little longer. Jordan's right: you could hurt yourself more, leaving right now. Just stay here for a little longer." Gentler, she added: "Your heart stopped, Cameron. We just want to make sure you're okay."

He looked at her, clearly torn. His eyes were just a little bit narrowed, his jaw setting backwards as he frowned. Eventually, he shook his head a fraction. "They won't find him," he objected. "Not Jonathan. There's not a chance." He sounded absolutely sure— there was no doubt in his voice whatsoever. And Kay found, holding his stare, that she agreed. They'd brought him in in the first place for the criminals that were too good for them. For when they were out of their depth. And Kay had brought Jonathan out of prison in the first place because he was the only other master of deception she knew.

They couldn't find Jonathan without Cameron. They just couldn't.

All the same, she stuck to her guns. "Just a little bit longer."

He looked at her, still with that same reluctance.

Maybe it was the way she was looking at him, or maybe it was just the fact he truly was in a significant amount of pain, still.

But slowly, he caved, and settled back into the bed.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

' _Rockin' around the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party hop! Mistletoe hung where you can see, every couple tries to—'_

"Stoooooop!"

 _It was harder to tell what was louder: the pleasant music, Cameron's scream of desperate anger, the birds' screeching, or Jonathan's laughter. For nearly seven minutes now, this had been going on. And with every passing minute, it was just getting funnier. Cameron had been running around the entire room, trying to get ahold of their doves and get them back in their cage. Of course, the birds wanted anything_ but _that, so the chase had been going on for quite some time. The second that Cameron managed to get close enough to grab them, they would either shoot off in the other direction, or just turn around and peck at him hard enough to get him to duck away._

_There were seven birds in total. Cameron had managed to corral a whopping zero._

" _Get—_ stop _, get over here! Oh my God!" Cameron cried, and Jonathan doubled over as his brother stooped down, reaching out for the nearest dove and tripping over his own feet once it flew away. He hit the ground with a thud and a squeak. And at his brother's continuing laughter, he shoved himself up, throwing him a scowl. "You could help me, you know!" he yelled. Jonathan straightened with a smirk, making a show of pulling his legs up to his chest and just sitting back in his chair more comfortably. Cameron soured more. "If you were helping me, this would have been fixed two hours ago!"_

" _You've only been doing it for five minutes," Jonathan pointed out. "And it's funny."_

" _Well, I'm glad you're entertained," Cameron hissed. He got himself the rest of the way up. He turned and looked at the escaped birds with enough hatred to cook them. One was perched on the windowsill, another was currently bouncing on the couch. Another one was simply standing no less than two feet away, just staring at him. Silently daring him to try again. Cameron hung his head and sighed. "I can't believe this, this is so stupid," he whined. "I_ hate  _birds, and they're_ so  _tacky,_ why  _did Dad get them, and_ why  _did he leave two minutes before they all decided to escape?"_

" _Escape?" Jonathan repeated. He cracked a grin. "You were feeding them and you left the door wide open, Cam."_

" _I was_ trusting _them!" Cameron cried, exasperated. "That's what I was told to do— make friends with them even though they're_ literally the worst creatures ever put on planet Earth!"  _He ended in a frustrated yell. And, just because he was angry, he jumped out and flailed his arms in the air, scaring the bird closest to them and making it flap away in a panic. He glared after it, blowing his cheeks out in pure anger as he sat back into his heels._

 _Jonathan watched blandly as the bird rushed away, raising his eyebrows. More than unimpressed. "That right there," he mused, pointing after it. "That's_ really  _gonna help make friends with it. It's gonna remember that."_

" _I_ hope _it remembers!" Cam yelled, stomping again and making the same bird fly away to the other side of the room entirely. It ended up crouching awkwardly down on top of the door that was ajar, hunching its wings as if to shield himself from him. It let out an enraged squawk, which Cameron looked tempted to return wholeheartedly. "I hope it has a nightmare about me tonight," he growled, throwing an 'I've-Got-My-Eye-On-You' gesture in its direction._

" _Just because you're going to have a nightmare about it, doesn't mean it'll be vice versa," Jonathan pointed out. He got up from the chair and walked over to stand by his twin, swinging his arms as he did. "They're birds, Cameron, not demons, you don't have to be scared of them."_

" _I'm_ not  _scared of them!" Cameron yelled immediately._

_As soon as he yelled this, one of the other birds swooped down at him, chattering loudly. Cameron flinched into a crouch, throwing his arms over his head with a yelp. Jonathan snickered, and the glare that Cameron threw him only made him laugh more. He pointed towards the dove at it flew away. "You just screamed because of Cupcake."_

" _That one isn't Cupcake!" he yelled, beet red as he jerked back up to stand. He jabbed a finger at another bird that was currently tearing up a newspaper in the corner. "_ That's _Cupcake, and I_ know _that because she was the first one that bit me and she's bitten me every day since!"_

_Jonathan blinked and looked in the direction of his twin's gesture. "Aw, yeah." His eyes softened and he smiled. "Cupcake's my favorite," he announced._

"Shut up _," Cameron spat, ignoring Jonathan's resounding snicker. His eyes narrowed and he hesitated for a couple seconds. Before he dashed out and made a wild grab for the nearest dove, which was hopping around on the coffee table. It flew off right before he could close his fingers around it, and Cameron ended up falling again. This time when he hit the ground, he was too disheartened to get back up. He fell down and stayed down, only rolling on his back so he could stare in frustration up at the ceiling. Quietly, he declared: "I give up. I'm done."_

_Jonathan traipsed over to his brother and settled down on the ground too. He laid down next to him and sighed as he rested his arms over his stomach. "With?"_

" _With everything. The whole enchilada. You're gonna have to go on without me."_

" _Not a fan of that," Jonathan mused. "Sounds like a lot of work."_

" _Well,_ look _!" Cameron threw out his hands, and Jonathan edged away with a snort when he saw that blood was still coming down one of his fingers from a particularly nasty bite. "I'm bleeding to death," he snapped. "I have like six more minutes of life, at the_ most _. Cupcake killed me." He let his arm flop back down to the ground. "You'll have to avenge me. Really smack her in the face, or something. At the very least don't give her any more treats."_

" _I'll keep it in mind," he replied. "But I already told you, I love Cupcake unconditionally. Probably more than I love you."_

' _Rockin' around the Christmas Tree have a happy holiday. Everyone's dancin' merrily, in the new old-fashioned way!'_

" _I hate birds," Cameron repeated, more tired this time. When Jonathan looked over at him, he could see the wistful expression on his face. Almost pained. He continued softly. "I want a dog for Christmas. Or even a cat…I've always wanted either of them." He sighed. "But…it'd get in the way of touring. I guess. And practicing. That's…more important." Jonathan's face fell. Cameron did the opposite as he grinned. "Maybe we can get one anyway. Maybe Dad will change his mind. We're older now, it's not like we're not responsible. We could have a dog. Or a cat. Either one."_

" _I dunno," Jonathan found himself mumbling. "I don't think Dad's willing to make a bunch of changes. Or if he's even able to."_

" _You don't know that," Cameron objected. Jonathan sighed and redirected his stare back up at the roof. He did know that. And that reply was almost ready to come out, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to fight his brother. He'd learned over the years. "He could surprise us. He could surprise_ you _. And wouldn't it be great? To come downstairs and see a puppy? We could train it— it could totally be a part of the act with us. Maybe I can try asking. Again."_

_Jonathan closed his eyes briefly. He shook his head just the tiniest bit. "Cam…" He could feel his brother looking over at him; he didn't even have to see. He hesitated, allowing himself another pause. But he couldn't hold it back. "You're giving him too much credit," he murmured. And now he could feel his disappointment. "You don't actually think he'd change his mind, do you?"_

_The response was immediate, like it was already prepared. "Of course I do." And there was no hesitation in his voice. "You can't…assume the worst about someone. Not if they're family. You always have to give them a chance, no matter what. Even if they've made mistakes." Jonathan made the conscious choice to hold his tongue. Ever since their father had hit Cameron six months ago, it was a touchier subject than normal. Every time their father moved a little too fast and Cameron would flinch away, or every time that his voice raised just the tiniest bit and Cameron immediately looked down at the floor, Jonathan had practically tasted his anger like vomit. He wasn't in the mood for allowances— not anymore. But here Cameron was, saying this himself, and with a smile on his face. Cam must have picked up on this, because he prompted after a second: "Isn't that right?"_

"… _I don't know," he managed stiffly._

_Cameron paused. He searched his brother's face, and he saw that resentment. He looked like he wanted to say more. But eventually he melted, and his smile turned gentler. Softly, he declared: "I wouldn't give up on you, either, you know." Jonathan turned back, a little surprised. Cameron just smiled wider. "I'd never give up on you. Ever. Just…like, in general. In case you were wondering."_

_At first Jonathan did nothing. But he couldn't keep the smile from growing across his face. His reply was instinctual. "I wouldn't give up on you, either." It was an entirely different situation, when it came to the two of them, he knew. But still. It was true, at least. For them, it was true. They couldn't give up on each other, because each other was all they had. And that knowledge was clear, even without either of them pointing it out aloud. They just knew._

_And for a second, they just laid there and smiled, listening to the radio, which had changed to another song a while ago. 'Let's take that road before us and sing a chorus or two…c'mon, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ridge together with you!' Jonathan was going to say something else— to offer that he go with Cameron to ask if a pet was something they could have, because he'd be lying if he said that the thought of a dog didn't make him smile, too. But before he could, there was a rush of feathers and squawking, and before either of them knew it, one of the birds was smacking straight down into Cameron's stomach._

_He screeched in surprise and flailed his arms out to smack it off. Apparently, it was not a fan of this decision, because it let out an angry scream and flew at Cameron's face, looking pretty bent on ripping it off. This only made Cameron screech even louder, and he started rolling to the side, like that was an effective tactic against an enraged bird. Immediately Jonathan broke down in a fit of laughter again, his sides splitting as he covered his face with his hands. Somehow, he was able to laugh even harder when he heard Cameron roll right into the couch and proceed to yell a rather obscene and personal insult at Cupcake._

'Later on, we'll conspire. As we dream by the fire! To face unafraid, the plans that we've made! Walkin' in a winter wonderland!'

The place was crowded. Families and couples and individuals alike were milling everywhere, flitting this way and that way in a chaotic mess. Music played overhead to match the celebration, able to be heard no matter where you wandered. Bright strings of lights and gleaming decorations were lighting up the night. Little Christmas trees were lining the walkways, and so were thousands of crowded little booths. Booths that were selling little trinkets, some selling ornaments, some with hot chocolate and cookies and some with games for the little kids to play. It was difficult just as to what exactly each one was— each one was so packed you was lucky to get a glimpse of their sign. You were lucky to get anywhere at all…between the couples holding hands and the kids running around either intent on seeing Santa or Rudolph.

The Christmas festival was a little early, calendar-wise.

But it was absolutely perfect for Jonathan.

He was wearing a hat that he'd found in the backseat of that girl's car— it was for some college he'd never heard of before. Which was a moot point; he was just glad it fit him and hid his hair. It was a pretty pathetic excuse for a disguise, and he knew that he would need a much better one if he wanted to stay under the radar. But for right now, it was darker, and this was place was bursting with far too much activity for him to be picked out easily if he kept his head down. It would have to do. He couldn't get anywhere at all if he didn't have any money. Getting some was step one.

'Oooor step one can be just  _leaving_? I think that's a pretty valid step one, too. Just my humble opinion.'

Jonathan ignored it. He kept walking, systematically looking this way and that as he did, watching out for anyone at all that could be looking at him. Whether it be someone in law enforcement, or someone managing to recognize him in general, he couldn't risk either. He felt like he was walking with a bright spotlight shining straight down on him, demanding that everyone in a mile radius turn their head. Even if so far, he hadn't even been glanced at once.

Everyone was too engrossed in themselves to notice anything else.

Which was part of the reason why it was so perfect.

Jonathan slunk through the crowd, stepping carefully around each person so that despite the close proximity, he didn't even brush against them. As he went, he expertly swiped as much as he could, from as many people as he could. He was a master pick-pocketer. He'd taught Cameron all he knew, in fact. His brother was always good at it, after the few awkward tries it took to get the talent under his fingers.  _He_  never got caught either— he could slip a watch off a man's hand or a necklace off a woman's neck as he was talking to them and get out clean. And Jonathan was even better. Along with his superior skills in figuring out puzzles, that was another thing Cameron used to very pointedly announce, simply because it was so plainly true. If anyone doubted it before, all they needed to do was look at this, because it was all the evidence that was needed.

As fathers were looking down at their children and very patiently explaining that they  _couldn't_  buy them another stuffed animal because they'd already bought them  _two_ , Jonathan walked behind them and slipped their wallet out of their pocket. In the same fluid, seconds-long motion, he would open it just enough to take out any bills inside, and then delicately slide it back into place. From there he would walk away, shoving both hands into his pockets and storing away the stolen funds without even checking to see how much it was. He would repeat this over and over, hardly even breaking stride.

He would pretend to be looking at something at a booth, never getting closer than the very fringe of the crowd, and he would slip a hand into a long-hanging purse, or a loose jacket. He'd swipe anything he could, because what he had now was nothing. It was only thanks to the party and the hustle and bustle that this was a fairly easy task. He knew he couldn't push it, though. He hadn't seen any type of security yet, but he would be stupid to think a huge thing like this would be completely unsupervised. All it took was one person to realize they were robbed. They would go and tell someone, and then high alert would be put up. And who knew whether or not Jonathan's name had already made it out as an 'escaped prisoner' yet. Who knew if the police force here was already looking out for him? Who would immediately rush out and look at the mention of criminal activity?

So he moved fast and gathered as much as he could. He walked the entire length of the festival, turned around and made his way back, taking everything he could along the way and walking on opposite sides each time, to try and not rouse suspicion of any booth operators that could have noticed him before. He kept his head down and weaved between people to stay out of focus. He saw a security guard wearing reindeer antlers by a peppermint stand, but they didn't even look in his direction.

He just kept walking and tried to keep himself level. Making his head ducked but his expression nonchalant. He tried to focus on what he needed to do. All his plans of getting out of prison required money. If he got this, then his next movements going forward would be much easier, and clearer. He just needed money. In most of his plans, he'd anticipated being able to rely on Cam—

_The aftermath of Christmas is always a weird feeling. The day seems to go on forever, because there's nothing left to do once you tear through your presents. All year, you'd been looking forward to sitting down and ripping through the wrapping paper, so now that it was over…so what else was there? That was what they were stuck in, now. Or…it was they probably would have been stuck in, if they hadn't had to leave for their New Year's show in only an hour. Their aftermath was a little different, because of that. Much smaller. But it was still there._

_Jonathan had gotten more books, because he was always going through them, and notebooks too, for writing. Cameron got an assortment of things that their father had promised he would explain later, and how they were important for the new trick he was going to have to learn. Jonathan had looked at him with a tiny frown when the explanation had been given, but Cameron was all smiles and bright eyes. He'd looked ecstatic, and not at all disappointed. Which figured._

_He still looked that way now, the two twins sitting together in this familiar yet shortened aftermath. They'd have to leave soon, and their dad was rushing around because of it. Surely in a couple minutes, he'd be calling down to them to get up and do the same. But for right now, they were going unnoticed. Something Jonathan was largely too familiar with, but this time, was more than okay with as well. He was sitting beside Cameron, the both of their backs up against the wall. Cameron was grinning, looking at the meager offerings of trash still remaining after they'd gone through their boxes. Jonathan looked at him questioningly. Wondering why he was so happy. Which he usually found himself doing, when it came to his brother._

_It was like Cameron knew what he was wondering. The feat wasn't uncommon. It was strange if they_ didn't  _know what the other was feeling or thinking. By this point, it was instinctual. Because when Jonathan glanced at him, he just smiled a little wider. "No puppy," he announced pleasantly. "Not this year."_

 _Jonathan blinked. He looked back at the scraps of wrapping paper and couldn't help but declaring: "I told you so." Cameron's eyes flickered over to him. Jonathan shrugged. "I told you Dad wouldn't change his mind. I told you it wasn't going to happen, no matter_ how  _we asked. Or how often."_

" _Yeah. Not this year," Cameron agreed. Still, with no trace of bitterness in his voice._

_He made a face. "Why do you do that?"_

_Cameron was fidgeting with his cards, like he always did. Shuffling them and spinning them without even looking. "Do what?" he chirped._

" _Stay…happy like that," Jonathan pressed. "It's…weird. It's…probably not_ good _." The skepticism was clear on Cameron's face. "You should be disappointed— you've been asking for a dog for ages. You're responsible, you would take care of it, nobody's allergic, you could probably train it to be in a show somehow…there's literally_ no  _reason you can't have a dog." Jonathan was angry_ for _him, it seemed. Or at least, that's how it came out sounding like. "So why aren't you upset with Dad for disappointing you_ again _? It happens all the time, and each time it's like you don't even care."_

" _I care," he objected._

" _Then_ why _aren't you angry?" Jonathan blustered._

_Cameron was eyeing him like he was demanding why two plus two equaled four. Like the answer was obvious – staring him right in the face – and for some reason he just wasn't seeing it. His voice gave off that vibe, too, when he gave him his answer. "Because there's always next year."_

Jonathan shook his head to try and clear it. He felt like he was going to be sick. Which wasn't a threat at all, because he hadn't eaten anything in ages, and the thought of food now just made his stomach cramp more. He wanted it out of his head. He wanted Cameron out of his head. His smile, his voice and how bright it was, the way he'd always laughed too hard trying to get a joke out, the way he'd looked that Christmas before they went downstairs and he saw that there wasn't a dog sitting there waiting for them, how he'd still smiled and brushed it off when he had, but Jonathan had seen him wilt just a little bit when he'd thought he'd turned away.

He wanted him out of his head, because it hurt to even think his  _name_ , let alone everything about him. But immediately, the desire was enough to make him ill on the spot. It brought white-hot guilt to burn through his skin. The fact that he could so much as even consider wanting to forget Cameron was appalling. He didn't want to forget him. And that's why this was so horrible. He didn't want to forget him— he still wanted him  _here_ , so how could he wish for his memory to be gone too? Memories were all he had. They hurt and stabbed, like hundreds of little knives were going right through his heart…but he couldn't wish for them to leave. Otherwise Cameron would be gone entirely, like he'd never existed.

And as he continued to walk, that searing guilt sharpened. He was angry. He was angry at everything. He was angry their dad had never given Cameron that damn dog, when Cameron never asked for anything. He was angry Cameron stayed so bright and optimistic despite it— still looked up to their dad like he was on some kind of pedestal Jonathan couldn't see. He was angry MW had been at the show that night— that she was there in Times Square and he had been stupid enough to look at her twice. He was angry he hadn't dived for Cameron first when he'd been in the vault. He was angry he couldn't slam his heart back into beating.

And now he was angry that was all there was. He was angry Cameron would never get the chance to have a dog at all, if he'd even still been thinking about the idea. He was angry he wouldn't have another Christmas to unwrap presents when it had been his favorite day of the year. He was angry he would never get to see his smile again, even though he'd always told himself the incessantness of it was annoying. He was angry Cameron would never maybe find someone and have a kid and brag about them every single day and shove his phone into Jonathan's face for updates on them and be happy and grow into that old man that's always telling stupid jokes people only laugh at to get them to stop. He was angry MW took this all away from him— took  _Cameron_ away from him, and everyone else for that matter. That she got off free, without a single repercussion.

He was angry. He was  _pissed_. He wasn't going to let her—

"Wait a second, is that…?"

The very instant he heard the hiss to his left, the enraged look that had been crawling over Jonathan's face melted away into an expression of alarm. His eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks. It was a second before he was recovered enough to actually do something. He considered the option of not stopping at all— the option of walking ahead like he hadn't even heard whoever it was in the first place. Or just straight out running and trying to lose them in the crowd. But he knew that was the wrong move. If he ran, he'd draw attention to himself…and that was if whoever had noticed him in the first place didn't call out for him louder. Then he might as well really have a spotlight on him.

Every instinct told him to take off, but he gritted his teeth against it and began to turn. His eyes were flickering a little from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of those stupid reindeer antlers that would signal a security guard. There weren't that many in the first place, but they were still around. When Jonathan turned, all he saw was the same thick crowd milling about— this time, with one family out of the throng stopped in their tracks to look at him. Immediately, he wanted to kick something. There was a Rudolph statue not ten feet away, he could kick that over. He'd never liked Rudolph in the first place – he'd always thought he was too smug – but he knew what he actually had to do was nip this problem in the bud before it could become an actual,  _really huge_  problem.

Not even giving them a second to take him in and do anything at all, Jonathan doubled back and rushed up to  _them_ , instead. "Hey!" he hissed, talking low underneath whatever Christmas song was now blaring obnoxiously around them. He was pretty sure it was Feliz Navidad, now. His voice was already way hoarser than he'd thought it would actually be. It was a miracle the family of four could hear him. But hear him they did, and when they saw him fully, they all lit up like Christmas trees, excuse the metaphor. The two parents were impressed on their own, but the two kids were practically trying not to scream. The boy was grinning from ear to ear and the little girl looked fit to swoon. Jonathan flashed them all an expertly-perfected smile, and injected happiness into his voice as much as he could. "How are you?"

"How are we!?" the dad blustered, and Jonathan fought not to wince at the volume. His smile just grew a tad more nervous, and the man laughed as he went on. Too loudly. "This is  _crazy_ , we're just here to give the kids something to do, and I pass you, and I stop and I'm like: 'Hang on a second, isn't that Ca—?'"

He stopped him before the name could actually get into the air and hang there for everyone to hear. At the same time, Jonathan didn't think he could stomach actually hearing it. Already with the first two letters, an unpleasantness was clenching hard in the pit of his stomach. He kept his smile on, though. "Yeah, crazy, right? But it's like I say: nothing's impossible! Isn't that right, sweetheart?" he prompted, looking down at the little girl, who positively beamed. He tried to ignore how much it hurt: pretending to be him again. How much it hurt to force those bright words out or smile his too-happy too-excited grin. To be reminded that he was the only person now who had these traits. That this was closest people were ever going to get now to seeing Cameron, and it wasn't even genuine.

"But here's the thing," he went on, still trying to uphold the façade even if it did feel like someone was stabbing him in the chest. "I was  _kind of_  trying not to get too noticed here, you know how it is," he said, trying to get the dad on board with a sly grin, as if they were in on a little secret together now. Which, in a way, they were, he guessed. "I guess I'm better at magic than I am at laying low," or the problem was he just needed a better disguise, that was his number one thing he needed to do, and now that he had money… "and I hope it's not too much to ask, but I hope you guys won't spread the news I'm here. Then I'll be here for hours; I was already just on my way out."

"Oh, of course!" the wife burst in with this promise, leaning over and elbowing her husband in the side. "We won't breathe a single word, it's just— wow, we're such big fans, and to see you all the way out here at our Christmas festival, it's just so strange!" Jonathan was nodding quickly, trying to signal her to stop talking so loudly. A couple people passing closer to them were glancing at them with curiosity. Any longer and any more obvious, and there was going to be a crowd around him, which meant less means of escape and way more attention. Both of which didn't go very well together. "I guess they mean what they say: celebrities really are just like us!"

"Yeah, yeah, we all love Christmas, okay, so—" In his haste, a bit of his 'Cameron' was leaving to be replaced by himself. They were apparently too over the moon to notice.

"I hate to ask!" Jonathan stopped as the father went on, trying to hide his mounting irritation. Why did people always say that? Why did people  _always_ say, 'I hate to ask' or 'Sorry for asking, but'? They weren't sorry at all because if they were, they wouldn't have done it in the first place. He turned back, already knowing what was coming, but feigning interest instead. "But could my family get a picture with you? Nobody would…" He laughed. "Nobody would believe it if we said we met Cameron Black at a Christmas party."

He grimaced at the name, but he grimaced even more at the implication the question brought. Pictures meant stories, and they could also mean social media. The FBI was sure to be tracking him down this very second, and that meant they would be all over this picture if it made it to Twitter or Facebook or whatever. A picture of Cameron Black all the way out here? When Cameron was dead? The news hadn't broken yet, obviously, or the family would be screaming about a zombie really cramping their Christmas mood. Maybe it had to be covered up, or at least cleaned up first— how to explain how Cameron Black was helping a mastermind killer steal a prized diamond instead of the FBI and died in the process? That would mean the FBI would actually have to fess up to handing out secret information to some random person off the street. Which would open up this entire mess that of course they would never want to  _waste their precious time on_. That was likely the reason. The FBI didn't care about Cameron, but they cared about their image— their reputation. He wouldn't be surprised at all that they would delay the news to 'get the facts straight.'

But it was getting to be that time that it would come out. One way or another. Even if it was held back for a little bit longer, the FBI at least would know the instant they saw that picture that it was Jonathan. Not that he was staying here, now that he'd gotten what he needed. But the less of a trail he could leave, the better. He was so far beyond caring about anything, but this was the one thing he needed to hang onto: getting to MW. And he couldn't do that, if…well, but…hang on…if he…

'Don't do it, come on, I'm begging you at this point. Don't. Please be smart,  _please_  just—'

"Sure, I'll take a picture with you really quick," Jonathan brightened. He glanced around and beckoned them to the side. "Here, back here." They could all duck behind one of the big standees of a gingerbread house. That way at least other people wouldn't notice that there were photos being taken and wonder what was up. Maybe he'd avoid a frenzy that way. "Here, why don't I take a picture with the kids, and then I can take a picture with the two of you, too?" he prompted, and felt a rush of satisfaction when the parents were immediately in agreement.

So he took a photo with the two little ones first, putting a hand down on the older boy's shoulder, and hugging the littler girl to his leg as he flashed the phone a smile that was so perfectly Cameron's that he was impressed he didn't get sick right then and there. From there, the kids and the adults swapped places. The boy took his father's phone and his place where he was standing, making sure his sister stayed put. Jonathan moved to be in the middle of the two, putting his hands on the smalls of their backs this time. "Say…'Ta-Da!'" he cheered. Both of them chorused it out wholeheartedly. Still grinning, Jonathan declared: "And one more for the road." Yet another snap, and then they were done.

Then there was a hand-shaking and thank yous and tons of other things Jonathan didn't care about. Honestly, he was just itching to take off at this point. He ruffled the boy's hair and gave the little girl another hug and said "Goodbye, princess" which made her squeal and rush away. And then the family started to go back to the festival, the dad asking how cool it was that they met their favorite magician, and did they want to go see Santa now too? That was when Jonathan knew he'd overstayed his welcome. Coming here in the first place was a horribly risky idea and that had almost made the whole thing fall apart as it was. He had to take off.

And he could, now.

He watched them retreat until he was by himself. Until he dropped Cameron's smile and his stony expression came back to replace it. He turned, breaking away from the party entirely, and starting to crunch through the snow towards the way people had been dragging their kids when they'd loudly been proclaiming it was late and time to go home, and no you can't buy a reindeer because they're not even for sale and you're probably allergic, too, honey. He headed that way, having glimpsed the parking lot that was situated far from all the games and houses and lights and really too elaborate of a set-up in Jonathan's opinion. He walked hurriedly, and this time he kept his head down more. And as he kept his head down, he reached back into his pocket to dig for what he'd just gotten. What he'd just managed to lift without the father even noticing.

And he clenched his fingers tightly around the keys as he tried to figure out which car they belonged to.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I  _have_ to  _leave_." It was about the fiftieth time that Cameron had declared this. Each time, his words got tauter and angrier, but each time, nothing was able to come from it, either. He was stuck, and Cameron Black never did well when he was stuck someplace. Everyone else was very much aware of this fact already, even without his constant announcing. It was in his pinched expression, his stiffened posture and the way he kept glancing at the clock like if he did it enough times, they would shoot forward about five hours. But apparently time didn't work like that, which was r _eally s_ tarting to tick him off.

Kay had stayed with the others— it wasn't like she had anywhere to go now that she was officially off of the entire case. She was in the windowsill with Jordan. As it seemed, right now they were the odd ones out in the others' eyes. Dina still sat in the chair at Cameron's bedside, and Gunter was in the recliner. Just like before, Cameron's announcement wasn't met with much. Gunter shifted and looked away, and Dina only seemed pained, which made Cameron even more irritable. Not really picking up on his reaction – or maybe she just didn't care – she tried to change the subject. "Why don't we order something?" she prompted. She turned to the tray table alongside the hospital bed and plucked up the folded menu that was waiting there. Cameron sighed and closed his eyes. "They have a lot to choose from. They have—"

"Dina, I'm not hungry," he grumbled.

She wilted. Before she took in a quick breath and tried to be sterner. "You have to be hungry, Cameron, you've been sleeping for ages. And did you even have anything to eat while you were gone, either?" Cameron opened his eyes again. Though he didn't say it out loud, because that would give her way too much satisfaction, he realized he hadn't. Though the fact didn't really matter, because he was being honest: he really wasn't hungry. Oddly enough, when your brother was gone possibly to go out and kill someone for absolutely no reason,  _and_ two of your ribs were broken and hurting so bad you wanted to vomit, you didn't really have enough time to reflect on it and think: 'You know what would really be perfect for this situation? A cheeseburger.'

"I'm not hungry," he repeated.

She sighed. "I'm ordering you something."

"I won't eat it."

"Then I will," Gunter flashed back, shooting him an irritated look.

Without missing a beat, Cameron declared: "Then I hope it has ginger in it."

Given that he was allergic, Gunter didn't take too kindly to the sentiment. He rolled his eyes and looked away, grumbling under his breath: "I think I preferred you when you couldn't breathe. At least then you were quieter."

"I can be  _super_  quiet," Cameron pressed. "If you let me leave to go find Jonathan, you won't hear from me at all, how does  _that_  sound?"

"Cameron, we understand you want to find him," Jordan exhaled. "We want to find him too. The second you're okay enough, we  _can_ , but right now you're just too hurt and we want to make sure you're fine before—"

"You're one to talk about safety," Gunter growled, refusing to listen.

Jordan stopped short, looking over at him with a frown. He opened his mouth again, like he was tempted to go on anyway, but after a second he bit it back. He just gave up and sank into the window glumly. Kay's eyes flickered to him, but she said nothing. Cameron, on the other hand, wasn't about to take the silent road. He never often did. "What's that about?" he asked, looking between the two. Dina glanced away uncomfortably as well, and he only got more confused. "What's up with you three?" he pressed. "You've been acting weird this entire time."

Kay decided to throw light on it. Albeit hesitantly. "You told Jordan and nobody else," she reminded him. Cameron had to take a second to realize what she was going on about but once he did, he stilled and frowned. "Apparently you called him and told him not to tell anyone where you were. Or what was going on."

"And like an idiot, Jordan agreed," Gunter grumbled. "Somehow he thought keeping secrets was an okay thing to do when it came to something serious like this."

Cameron looked at Jordan again, to see his friend sag even more back into the glass. His frown worsened. His eyebrows drew together, and he looked between each person. When he realized how upset even Dina looked, he seemed to draw some line. "Hey, wait a second." He tried to move to sit up, but the strain was immediately too much for his ribs. He gritted his teeth and turned to raise the head of his bed up and just be satisfied with that much. Though even that was applying way too much pressure around his sides, and he had to stop only halfway before it got to be too much. His voice was weaker when he went on. "Hey, I  _told_ Jordan not to tell you guys," he reminded. Jordan looked up at this. "Don't be mad at him— if you're going to be mad at anyone, it makes the most sense to be mad at me, doesn't it?"

Dina opened her mouth to reply. Gunter beat her to it. "We're mad at the both of you," he clarified.

Cameron blinked, then tilted his head to the side as if to say, 'Eh, fair enough.'

"Why didn't you trust us?" Dina demanded, and it was the hurt in her voice that sobered Cameron at once. "Why did you tell Jordan and nobody else? We were so worried about you. And to hear that you called Jordan…and that he at least got to know that you were okay…" She shook her head. Cameron didn't think he'd ever heard her sound this strained before.

His face fell. An unexpected rush of guilt hit him, and he looked down at the blankets. He had to take a few seconds to gather himself, but when he did he took in a deep breath and started slowly. "I'm sorry." He looked up at the both of them to see that the had their undivided attention now. "You're right. I shouldn't have asked him to lie for me. And it wasn't because I didn't trust you guys. It's just…it was in the moment, I wasn't thinking…I was hoping the less people knew, the easier it would be. At the time, I thought it wasn't that big a deal. And…I was wrong. For thinking that. I shouldn't have lied to you. I shouldn't have asked Jordan to lie, either. The only reason he did was because he was being a good friend to me. So if you're going to be angry at anyone, it should just be me. Not Jordan. It wasn't his fault."

Silence met his words. Dina and Gunter were both torn. Neither of them seemed sure on what to say. Cameron looked at Jordan, though, and saw that he looked as if five million pounds had been taken off his shoulders. He smiled, and Cameron met the gesture, especially when he was given a soft: "Thanks, boss." The rush of affection he felt in reaction to this was what spurred him forward.

"We're a family," he stated, turning back to address everyone again. Kay was a silent audience off to the side, staying out of the interaction entirely, but watching it all unfold. Her eyes were soft when he announced this. "We've always been a family, and you're right: families don't keep secrets from each other. So from now on, there won't be any more. It was wrong of me to try and keep this one, and to ask Jordan to do the same. I'm sorry. I don't want it to be between any of us anymore." It took a second for it all to sink in, but he could tell when it did, because Dina slowly melted into a smile. Gunter didn't exactly beam, but he did offer a tiny nod, which was basically the same thing. Or, at least, Cameron was willing to take it.

But he also wasn't done. " _But_. Families  _also_ stick together," he pushed, and immediately Dina's grin was gone. She sagged forward more, as if in defeat, but Cameron sprinted to finish before she could interrupt. He practically saw her building the argument on her tongue, and he'd heard it all by now. "And our family's been way too split up for way too  _long_!" His voice sharpened with desperation. "And if Jonathan goes through with whatever he's doing, then it's going to  _stay_ that way! We're  _never_ going to have that chance of getting it back again! So come  _on_!"

"The FBI—" Dina tried.

"Is  _really bad_ , no offense Kay," Cameron completed, ignoring the glare she shot at him. "Or they  _will_  be bad when it comes to Jonathan. He's hidden all his  _life_." This was said with the smallest tinges of sadness. "He's hidden  _way_ more than I have, and even  _I_ would know to how to hide from the FBI. He's an expert, they're not going to find him." His blue eyes were steely with determination and conviction. There wasn't any changing his mind, it didn't seem. "He can hide in  _plain sight_ , I've seen him do it a million times. We all have." The other three couldn't argue. It only encouraged him further. "He can get away the very second he needs to— almost  _before_ he needs to, sometimes. If he's out there already, then he's already been left alone too long."

He looked at Kay steadily. Her expression was pained and conflicted. He put even more belief behind his words when he told her: "My brother is  _innocent_. He's never hurt anyone in his entire life. But if he  _wanted_  to…he could kill anyone he wanted. Both of us could." Kay looked as though she'd prefer to laugh off this statement. Frankly, the thought of Cameron even killing a butterfly was laughable. But something in his expression made it impossible for her to do so. She could only hold his stare, not even blinking. "We  _need_ to find him," Cameron went on. "I need to find him— I know him, I could do it. We need to find him, and we need to get me  _out there_ , where there's a chance he can realize I'm okay," he said, gesturing out towards the window, but flinching when the movement caused pain to flash up his side.

Dina looked mournful now. She knew he was right but at the same time… "What do you want to do, Cameron?" she asked softly. He closed his eyes again. "You can barely even sit up. What do you expect to do if you leave?"

He thought about the answer for a moment, and once he came up with one he practically exhaled it out. "More than I could if I didn't. And I'm willing to do it. For Johnny." Screw the pain. He didn't care about it at all. If he knew he could save his brother before he did anything rash, he would. He'd down a million pain pills and keep pushing himself if it meant this whole thing was solved before permeant damage could be inflicted. Nobody spoke after he said this, but nobody argued either. There was an awkward gap where it seemed like agreement was right around the corner, but nobody was actually certain enough to offer it. Cameron was about to press on, when there was a quiet knocking at the door.

They all turned to see that same technician – the one Gunter was probably going to end up killing before the day was out – shuffling through the door with her DynaMap. She smiled the very second the attention was put on her. Though the smile was very clearly nervous, and it only got more so when she looked at Cameron. "I'm here for more vitals," she announced. It made him look at the clock and get even angrier at the time that stared back at him. He'd been here way too long. Though he didn't fight, his expression was strained as he let her wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm like she had before. Out of habit, or maybe out of some social awkwardness, she started to talk to fill the silence. "Sorry to break up your party," she giggled, fiddling with the cuff to make sure it was on perfectly. "I'll be in and out."

"Wish I could say the same," Cameron grumbled.

She glanced at him and frowned a little. When she spoke again she tried to make her voice even peppier. "At least you're doing better! The nurse took you off your oxygen and everything! Although…" She looked at the screen of her machine after she put the clip on his finger, and she frowned. "Your O2 levels are only at ninety right now…can you take some deep breaths for me? We wanna try to get that number up to at least ninety-two…" Cameron did as she asked, grimacing at the certain tightness in his chest that came with it. She continued to watch the screen as the number ticked up to ninety-one, and then eventually climbed to ninety-two. It was obvious she was waiting for it to get even a little higher, but Cameron was getting light-headed so he stopped. She'd have to make do with bare minimum. All the same, she grinned. "Thank you very much."

She went to the computer and flashed her badge, to start logging everything. Cameron was more than frustrated by now, and the question couldn't keep itself from bursting out. "So what do you guys do if someone doesn't want to be here anymore?" Dina flashed him a look and Kay even mumbled his name exhaustedly under her breath. Both of which he was going to ignore, but still. He was at least aware of them. The technician turned, looking confused. And already frightened, at a question she apparently had never encountered before. "You know, like…you can't…keep someone here if they say no, right? Isn't that a thing?"

"I…" She trailed off uncertainly.

"Cameron, please don't do this," Dina pleaded. "It's not like you can—"

"It's a legitimate question," Cameron insisted. "They  _cannot_ keep me here if I don't want to be here, can they?"

"It's what's medically necessary, Cameron, you're not this stupid," Gunter snapped.

"Debatable," Cameron countered immediately, in a tiny mumble.

"Well…I've never had a patient leave, yet, but…you could always go AMA…" the tech murmured suddenly. He turned back to her at once, and she was alarmed at the sudden interest that was radiating off of him. She continued, more than unsure. "I would have to call your nurse, I think, and you'd have to fill out a bunch of forms…but…we can't _technically_ keep you here, you have a point…" She glanced at her machine, to his blood pressure that had just popped up. "167 over 100…" she mumbled, looking concerned. Her eyes went to his O2 levels again and she wilted. "You're down to 89…are you sure you don't—?"

"What's AMA?" Cameron interrupted, literally not caring  _at all_  about whatever she was listing.

She lingered on the screen for a heartbeat more, looking troubled. Her expression was no less assured when she looked back at him to see him practically bursting with impatience. And the answer came slowly. "…Against Medical Advice."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He pulled over at a rest stop to try and clear his head. He wasn't too far away from the town he'd just left, that liked to celebrate Christmas early and celebrate it  _hard_. But Jonathan wasn't entirely sure on where he was going to go, from here. He needed to plan, and he needed to count his money, both of which he could do in the very last corner parking space of this rest stop, which was largely empty. The only people that were stopping at this time of night were only doing so to use the bathroom and then hurry back along to wherever they were headed.

He'd managed to find the car by locking it unlocking it repeatedly, trying to figure out which one lit up in accordance to it. Thankfully no one was really around or paying enough attention to notice, and he managed to get there before the family decided to hit the hay on everything, too. He got out with no security noticing him, and if the family did end up spreading the word about him, it didn't really matter because he was well on his way out, and nobody else flagged him down. This car was much bigger than the other one…and it was also much more guilt-inducing with the toys in the backseat and the car seat that was there, too.

He'd bring this one back. He promised himself that. He'd find MW quickly, he'd do what he needed to do, and he'd bring this one back. He just had no choice right now. He was sorry it had to be that family, because they looked genuinely nice. He just needed a car to do this. Once he did it, he'd go back to that lot and leave it there…it'd eventually find its way back to them, he was sure. They had been a nice family, and so happy to have seen him— or…to have seen Cameron. Jonathan knew he would be the same if he got to see his brother again. They didn't deserve to get their car taken from them.

But he didn't deserve to have his brother taken from him, either.

He looked back down at the stacks of money he had in front of him. He'd done more than enough. There was well over four hundred dollars here, with everything stacked up together. He'd gotten a whole lot more twenties than he'd thought he did. He guessed going to a place like that, you couldn't really leave too much money at home. And there was money in this car too— he found a ten in the glovebox, and another ten in the center console. This was good…he didn't need too much in the first place, just enough for a couple things…

" _I don't need one anyway," Cameron announced suddenly._

_Jonathan frowned. "A way out?" he asked. "You kind of need a way out, Cameron." Currently his brother was attempting to get out of a straitjacket. Usually the feat was no problem at all— he could do that ever since he was thirteen. But this one was different. It was outfitted with about five locks and it also came with a helpful, thick chain that looped completely from Cameron's shoulders to his waist. Cameron's task today was to figure out how the hell he was supposed to get out of it. And he'd started that assignment about an hour and a half ago. Jonathan had been doing his best to try and help him, because he could see how Cameron's frustration and panic was building by now. Oddly enough, his brother didn't do well in confined spaces, at least for a very long amount of time. Of course, their dad didn't know that, only Jonathan did. This was taking its toll by now._

_So it was surprising to have Cameron just say this out of the blue. Maybe he was just trying to distract himself._

" _No, I would kill a man in cold blood to get a way out right now," Cameron grumbled, trying to twist sharply and elbow his way out of the stupid wrapping. But to no avail, and he grumbled under his breath as he just shook his head fast and tried something else. "I meant a dog. I don't need one."_

 _Jonathan blinked a few times, looking up from the lock he was holding. If their dad saw him helping he'd have a fit, but he wasn't here right now, surprise, surprise. He made a face that Cameron didn't see, because he was too busy stumbling around in a circle right now. The lock was taken along with him and ripped out of Jonathan's hands, and he let his arms swing down to his sides. "Well…" Cameron grumbled about how he was going crazy and would have to_ stay _in this straitjacket. "Yeah, I mean…but you_ want  _one still…right?"_

" _Yeah, I want one," Cameron agreed. "But I don't_ need _one. Are there any scissors in this stupid house?"_

 _Jonathan ignored him. His forehead creased. "It doesn't matter that you don't need one, Cam. I didn't need the books I got…nobody really_ needs  _what they get at Christmas, usually. If you did, people wouldn't like it nearly as much." Cameron jumped up and down, scowling as he did another twirl. Jonathan would laugh if the circumstances were different. "You don't need a dog, but you want one, and that might even be more important." He shook his head. "When was the last time you got something you_ wanted _?"_

" _I get that all the time," Cameron objected. He tripped and stumbled to try and catch himself. He ended up smacking into the wall. He cursed under his breath— or, his version of a curse, which Jonathan couldn't really hear completely, but he_ did _hear the phrase 'Gosh darn it.' He started to straighten up again, but at the last second his feet slid out from under him and he ended up just collapsing with a huff. From there, he was like a turtle that couldn't get back up. Though it wasn't for a lack of trying._

 _Jonathan stepped over him to help but paused for a second to look down at him pointedly. "Do you want_ this _?" he demanded._

" _In particular?" Cameron puffed. "No, not this in particular. At the moment."_

" _Well, this is what you're always doing!" Jonathan pressed. He sighed when Cameron tried to get up again and basically just accomplished flailing his legs around awkwardly. He stooped down and grabbed his brother's shoulders, easing him up. "You're always doing tricks like these for Dad or_ practicing _tricks that he wants you to be an expert with in the next two hours. He's always asking you to do stuff like this, and you always do it and never even complain. You never_ want  _to, but you do anyway." He got him back up to stand and looked at him imploringly. "So why doesn't it matter, then, when you_ do _want something but don't get it?"_

" _Because I don't_ need  _it!" he pressed, and Jonathan rolled his eyes. Cameron stuck out his tongue and wriggled, but to no avail. He went on after a second. "If it was something I needed and I didn't get, then I could be upset about it. But I don't need a dog – my life doesn't depend on getting a dog – so if I don't get one, then it's not that big a deal. I can be upset about it, but it's not like…_ life-shattering _that I don't get it. Life can continue without a dog."_

 _Jonathan sighed. He shook his head and looked back to see Cameron was practically having a seizure standing up trying to get this thing off of him. It just made him more frustrated. His brother was the stubbornest person that existed on this planet, he was pretty sure. He knew there was no changing his mind. If he hadn't changed it by now, it was pretty much a lost cause. "Well, what_ do  _you need, then?" he sighed. "You mean to tell me you'll be satisfied with anything that happens in your life just because you have food and water and someplace to sleep? I don't believe you."_

" _Well, duh," Cameron said through clenched teeth. He pulled at his restraints again, and again he was disappointed. He groaned out loud and flung his head back for a second, wallowing in frustration. Before he perked back up again to look at his brother. "I mean, those are the basics," he elaborated. "You see, you need that stuff to_ not _die, and that's pretty much the general_ goal _, so if I didn't get that stuff I'd be pretty upset." Jonathan hummed, pretending to be impressed with the explanation. Cameron shot him an amused look before he looked back down at his confines. "But that's not all," he offered. "Well— it's most of it. But I need_ you _, too."_

 _Jonathan stopped short, blinking fast and a couple times too many. He looked at Cameron oddly, surprised with the comment that was proposed so simply. His brother was oblivious to it, but he continued anyway. "I need_  you _, and if I have you— well, you're kind of as good as a dog, I guess. You don't fetch, but you keep me company when you're not being crabby. Why would I need something_  else _to keep me company too? I don't. So I don't_ need  _a dog. As long as I have you, it's fine. I don't mind."_

_He stayed still and mute, just watching his brother stumble around like an idiot trying to get out of the straitjacket their dad put on him and just walked away from. His expression weakened. Maybe with a little sadness, but mostly it weakened out of affection. Cameron wasn't averse to saying mushy things— out of the two of them, he was obviously the first to say things like that. But it still didn't happen often. It still left an impact when it did, even if Cam wasn't acting like it was._

_He was silent, sitting with this sentiment for what felt like ages. Before he sighed and smiled a worn little grin. "Here, let me help," he urged, stepping close and starting to work on that one lock. He thought he'd almost got it before, until Cameron had whirled away. His brother stumbled, twisting his neck comically to try and see what he was doing. It took a while, and a few missed tries, but eventually Jonathan yanked on it and it snapped open. One down, four to go. But the instant he heard the click, Cameron lit up like the sun. He absolutely beamed, when he looked back up at Jonathan._

_And his voice was just a bright when he declared happily: "_ See _?"_

Sometimes Jonathan had joked that he didn't 'see it.' To Dina, or Gunter, or Jordan, or Cameron, the population of the world he was allowed to actually be open with, he would claim: "Eh, I don't see the resemblance. You guys are crazy." They'd all laugh it off. So would he. Because it  _was_  just a joke— he and Cameron were genetically identical. There wasn't a single thing about their faces that didn't match. Put them together, dressed the same, and shuffle them around and close your eyes…when you looked again, you wouldn't be able to tell which was which.

Or at least that's what Jonathan had thought, before. Now he wasn't so sure.

Looking at himself in the mirror of the car, he was waiting to see it. He was waiting to see the resemblance. The identicalness.

He was waiting to see Cameron again. See his smile. The light in his eyes that was always there, no matter what.

He looked. He waited.

But the face that stared back at him was desolate and defeated. The eyes were red and irritated from crying, and they were shadowed with a lack of sleep. There was no grin. No hint of laughter that was sure to come in the next five seconds. There wasn't a happiness that radiated out like warmth, as if it really did come from the sun. He didn't see any of it.

He didn't see Cameron at all.

He just saw himself.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"This is stupid."

"We are  _experts_ when it comes to stupid!"

" _You're_ the expert when it comes to stupid. We're just dragged along."

"You  _love_ it!" Cameron cheered, his eyes burning brightly with excitement. Or maybe they were burning bright with pain, instead. He was limping in the middle of the group, because Jordan and Gunter were worried about catching him if he started to fall, and Kay and Dina were worried about clearing a path for him so nobody bumped into him. "Otherwise you all would have left me ages ago and yet here we are." He'd signed all the forms the second that technician had started to explain those three letters. He'd signed every paper, he'd gotten his clothes back, the bed alarm was disabled, and here Cameron Black was not an hour and a half later: AMA.

He was limping severely, and practically gagging on every other step he took with his broken ribs. He was weak from a lack of food, and a couple of times he staggered and Gunter rushed out to catch him, looking a cross between severely angry and severely concerned. Like he wanted to stab him, but then immediately give him a bandage to make up for it. They were crawling along like a slug. It was actually very ridiculous— the whole thing was, and the entire group had said it about a gazillion times on the way down alone, and they were just now getting out of the building. But Cameron was deaf to it all. He'd signed the papers and there was literally nothing they could do but comply.

Crossing the threshold of the hospital and coming out into the night air, Cameron stopped for a moment, and the rest of them did, too. They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for what they knew was coming. He had to catch his breath, though, before anything could get out. It didn't really help their concerns. Catching Gunter's worried and angry look, Cameron made a point to gasp between inhales: "This…is your fault, by the…way…don't even…don't even look at me like this…you could've…been gentler. This…'s on you."

He looked away with a grumbled declaration of: "I'm going to kill him."

"Cameron, whatever we do, it has to be easy," Dina said flatly. Cameron looked at her, still trying to breathe, and she shook her head. "We can go after Jonathan, but we're not going to let you get yourself hurt any more than you already are. No danger. Absolutely no pushing yourself. And when we find Jonathan, you are going right back into that hospital." She sounded like a mother scolding her son for being an idiot. Which wasn't too far from the truth. "Do you understand? Those are the conditions, otherwise we're not going to help you." This, of course, was a complete lie. They would sooner die than leave Cameron, especially right now. But it came anyway.

Thankfully, he wasn't going to call her out on it. He just nodded, getting enough air back to actually speak now. "Yeah, of course, there…won't be any problems. It'll be easy. Easy-peasy." She looked at him blandly, but let it drop. He was looking past her, towards the parking lot. One eye was closed in severe pain as he looked over the mostly-empty blacktop. Empty as in no people. Just cars. "Okay," he breathed. "First thing's…first, I need…attention."

"That sums up your entire personality," Gunter commented dryly.

"And so did the time you said 'Yes'…when I asked…if you hated fun, but we're not…we're not talkin' 'bout that right now," Cameron gasped, literally waving him off with one hand.

"You wanted to have a water gun fight, I said I hated the water guns."

"Yeah. So anyway…" Gunter rolled his eyes as Cameron plowed on. "I need…someone from…a magazine or…newspaper to see me or something, usually that's not…hard. I guess it's…late." He exhaled heavily and gasped again with a little flinch. Everyone was staring at him with clear concern, but he was blocking it all out. "I need my picture somewhere he…might see it. A newspaper, or TV, something— Dina, you…can do that, right?"

She thought for a second but nodded. "I can."

He grinned. "Good. That's easy enough." Maybe that'd be all they had to do. Get his name out there in some way, and then from there Jonathan would rush back. But if not…well, Cameron was just going to have to go out and drag him back. And he would— there was no doubt in his mind he'd manage it. He knew Jonathan like the back of his hand. He was the best chance at getting him back. This would all be fixed, even without the FBI helping them. They had Kay. The FBI didn't want her, but Cameron sure did. With her help too, they were golden.

He started to brighten more and more, and the grin on his face grew. He started to become surer that this actually  _was_ going to be an easy fix. It'd all work out and pretty soon it'd just be a fun story to tell at parties and talk shows. The others were still clearly skeptical, but they'd see. He was positive.

He nodded once and straightened up despite his ribs, which were still screaming in pain. And, grinning widely, he declared: "Let's go find my brother."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, I'm SandfireKat, I'm 20, and I never freakin' studied for my pathophysiology test.
> 
> Happy birthday, Penny!!!! I stayed up until two am to finish this after having gotten three hours of sleep after my night shift yesterday; appreciate me. And don't look too hard at this chapter 'cause it's probably wonky af. But I love you and it's your birthday so I forced myself to write thirty pages in the span of four days bc of course I would. I knew it's been forever since I updated Irreversible...and now you can finally stop asking me to ;D <3  
> I tried to clear out as many typos/errors as I could! I'm so sorry for the huge long break, I don't even know if people are still reading this but OH WELL. Too late now I already done did the thing. It's early/late, I have a fun idea let's be nice to me. I did my best but I am incompetent.

_"No, look, it's called The Broken Wand Ceremony!" Jonathan sighed, trying to focus more on the words he was reading rather than the words that were spouting from Cameron's mouth. "When a magician dies, you take their wand and you snap it in half. Or, I guess into more pieces…it just depends on what you want. But look!" Cameron had his own book and he was currently trying his best to shove_ that _into his brother's face instead of the one he was holding. Jonathan was meeting all his efforts by just holding his novel closer and closer to his nose. Cameron huffed. He gave up and looked down at the book himself, his eyes bright. "The first one was at Houdini's funeral, and ever since then it's been a thing. You break the wand and the family keeps all the pieces. It's supposed to show that the magic is all gone, but the memory of it isn't. Or something like that."_

" _That's great, Cameron, but I_ don't _care," Jonathan grumbled. "I'm trying to read. You're being annoying."_

"You're  _being crabby," Cameron quipped, not even looking up from his book. "Come on, it's cool! It's…deep." Jonathan rolled his eyes, and Cameron tried to hold back an impatient sigh. He shook his head and moved on, his voice becoming more dismissive. "Well,_ I  _like it," he announced. "I want to do it. Or, I want_ us  _to do it, I mean, 'cause you know we both have to die together. Otherwise one of us is gonna get up to heaven first and spread rumors about the other and then it'll be this whole awkward mess when all the angels think you do crack cocaine, which I may or may not have told them, but will definitely be a let-down at the next party when they discover you're just a lame nerd that reads books instead."_

_Jonathan had given up trying to read halfway through the speech, taking instead to just stare over the top of his book in a way that clearly pleaded: 'Kill me.' He waited a heartbeat more once Cameron was finished, the silence practically demanding to know whether or not he was actually through. But apparently, he was, because he fell silent. So Jonathan grumbled again: "You don't even have a wand, Cameron. It'd be stupid. Not that it already isn't…" he added under his breath._

" _You don't need an actual wand, it can be a symbolic one," Cameron pressed. "It's just for really famous magicians— that's us! So we have to do it!" He added a little slyer: "I mean, we practically don't even have a choice, when you really think about it."_

_Jonathan closed his book and hit it lightly against his forehead. His reply was reluctant, and it was mostly just an exhale. "If I agree with you, will this conversation end?" he sighed._

" _If you're gonna use that_ tone, _probably not," Cameron returned._

 _He shifted his legs down more on the couch and dropped his book, so it fell into his lap. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead, before he dropped his arms and turned to fix his brother with a dull look. "If you keep bugging me, you're going to be planning a funeral much sooner than you think." Cameron only brightened up mischievously. It just encouraged Jonathan to make his threat much fuller. "Or_ I  _will be, anyway." He picked up his book again with a roll of his eyes. "Because I'm starting to think that's the only way I'll get some peace and quiet. Ever. In my entire life."_

" _You wouldn't kill me," Cameron objected. "You're too lazy to coordinate a funeral."_

" _You're_ absolutely  _right, that's why I'm just going to throw your body in the harbor."_

 _He snorted, and before Jonathan could stop him or snap at him to cut it out, he hopped over and plopped down on top of his brother's legs. Jonathan shot him an exasperated glare, but Cameron was sitting comfortably, and only shot him an imploring look. "You have to at least promise me I'll be on a really cool boat. And that fireworks will go off once I'm a safe enough distance away— you can be in charge of making sure I don't set anything on fire. Contrary to popular belief, I never_ want  _to start fires. They're always on accident." He turned to tuck back into his book, though he added under his breath: "Although, now that I think about it, it_ does _happen quite a lot…"_

" _You know what else happens a lot?" Jonathan prompted. Cameron hummed, and he had to fight not to roll his eyes. "You bugging the crap out of me."_

" _I don't_ bug  _you!" he gasped. "I'm a_ delight _."_

 _Jonathan had to roll his eyes at this one, but he also had to crack a smile. He tried to hide it by opening his book back up, but the huge smile that came over his brother's face was a not-so-subtle indication that the effort was useless. "Whatever helps you sleep at night," he scoffed, ignoring the way Cameron was starting to giggle. "It doesn't even_ matter,  _we don't need to talk about that kind of stuff anyway. It's depressing."_

_Cameron's smile faded, and he frowned instead. He looked from his book to his brother before he asked: "How come? It's interesting. It's neat."_

" _No it's_ not _, it's—" Jonathan stopped short. His eyes flickered up but the look on Cam's face now didn't sit as right with him. He just shook his head and attempted to shrug it off. "It's_ depressing _," he repeated, putting a bit more stress on the word. "It's weird to…we just don't need to talk about that kind of stuff. Dying. People don't do that." He turned a page. Cameron's forehead was creasing. Again, Jonathan shook his head. "Just drop it," he requested. "I'm sure there's something else you can waste your time with that doesn't involve…planning funerals that aren't going to happen for ages. Or thinking about what'll happen if…" He trailed off. His eyes flashed, and he purposefully kept them engrossed in the words on the page he wasn't reading anymore. If only to keep them away from Cameron._

 _But he should have known that Cameron wasn't one to take hints. Or, maybe he was with other people, but not with Jonathan. "What's wrong?" he asked. When Jonathan didn't reply, he only grew more confused. "Wait, does it…does it_ really  _bother you?" Jonathan said nothing, which in a way was saying everything he needed to. But if the silence wasn't telling enough, the expression that pinched over his face_ was.  _The shift was minimal, and barely there, but it registered to Cameron at once. "I was just teasing, Johnny, I wasn't actually thinking about it," Cameron hedged. When his brother still kept clammed up, his eyes narrowed even more in befuddlement. "Why does it bother you to talk about it? It's not like it's going to_ happen _anytime soon, I was just pointing out that—"_

" _Cameron." Jonathan looked up, and Cameron stopped short when their eyes locked. The name had come out flat and dull. And it came with an unspoken yet very clear warning to stop it all there. Sure enough, Cameron heard it loud and clear, and just stared at his brother. Jonathan shook his head again, more exasperated this time. "Just cut it out," he said thinly. "C'mon." Cameron only blinked a couple times, rendered mute for at least right now. So Jonathan looked back down and tried to redirect his attention again, now for the last time._

_Cameron kept staring at his brother, his expression a mixture of confusion and weird sadness. Even though there was nothing really to be sad about, which he knew. He looked back down uncertainly. It only took a couple seconds, though, before he dropped it. He turned and closed the book before he set it aside, and set it out of his mind for now, too. He turned back to Jonathan and opened his mouth to say something, but it died on his tongue before he could. He eyed his brother oddly, noticing that his shoulders were the tiniest bit stiffer. How his eyes were a little more narrowed, and his jaw was locked back. How he was still put-off._

_It was clear by the look on his face he had no idea why Jonathan was so upset. But he figured it wouldn't be wise to ask outright, especially now. So he just dropped it. It probably wasn't that important, anyway. "Okay." He jumped back up to his feet, getting off of his brother, and Jonathan didn't look up. Cameron swung his arms a little awkwardly. He started to just turn around and head away. But at the last second, he hesitated and looked back over his shoulder with a grin. He tossed back to him teasingly: "I_ am  _a delight, though."_

 _Jonathan snorted. He actually grinned at this. "You_ suck _," he corrected, and Cameron only stuck his tongue out at him. He turned and walked away, leaving him on the couch still tucked into his novel. But Jonathan still wasn't reading anything that was on the page. And when Cameron turned his back to him and walked away, his temporary grin decayed, and he started to frown again instead. He watched his twin go, until he rounded the corner and disappeared entirely, leaving him to be the only one left in the room._

_He stared after him for a moment longer. Before he just reverted back to his reading, and tried to get himself to focus on that instead. For some reason it took a lot more effort than it probably should have. Even when he did start skimming over the page again, and slowly eased back into the story, the frown stayed put on his face._

Jonathan ducked a little bit, shaking his head as if to clear it. When he knew that by now that wasn't possible at all. He took in a slow breath, and when he let it out, it trembled against his throat. He reached up and drew his hands through his hair, grimacing and trying to regather himself. But his hands were shaking when he dropped them back into his lap. He'd pulled over ages ago. The road he was on was a lonely one, but that was what they all needed to be, now. He'd needed to pull over to get his bearings. To figure things out and wake himself up. By this point he'd gone ages without sleep…but sleep was too dangerous a luxury to take at this point.

He was running out of time. He knew it. He could practically feel the seconds draining by, feel things get closer and closer to caving in on him. It was like a drain had been unplugged and now he was just being dragged down underneath the water. If he wanted to stay uncaught, he had to go somewhere else, he had to go far away. He couldn't just go a few hours in one direction, he couldn't just go a state or two over, like he was now. That wasn't  _enough_ to avoid the police— the FBI. They'd find him if he didn't flee and flee  _fast_.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that because escaping to freedom wasn't what he was wanting to do. It was what Kay would _think_  he wanted. It was why she thought he'd ran, but she'd be wrong. He'd left to find MW. He'd left to find the woman that had ruined his life and killed his brother, ensuring that he would never be able to recover even a fraction of what he'd had before he'd gotten into the car with her.

The only reason he'd left was to kill her and make her pay. He couldn't do that if he kept running. He  _had_ to find her. He couldn't do that if he focused on himself— if he ran somewhere else and somewhere far. He had no idea where she was; he had no idea where to even begin looking. He had no idea if she was still in New York or if she'd left the country herself, a step ahead of them in that respect. He didn't know how he would get all the way over there without a passport, whether or not the trip would be pointless because she was still in the city. He had no idea how he was going to get  _back_ into the city without a disguise, he had no idea how far word had spread about his 'escape.'

He couldn't call anyone for help— they would stop him; he knew they would. And already this was difficult enough. If one of them tried to stand in his way, he didn't know what he'd do. He didn't know what he was going to do at  _all_ beyond the simple plan of killing MW. That was all he had. After that, he didn't care. He hadn't acknowledged it too much before this moment, but he truly didn't give a single  _shit_ about what happened afterwards. All planning stopped with a bullet in her head. That was all he wanted, that was all he  _needed— but how was he going to get that far in the first place?_

He was getting nowhere, he was going in circles, he was going  _insane,_ with it all  _this close to him,_ and yet so far away at the same time. His hands shook even more, he flinched even harder. He looked around at the stolen car, the stolen money,  _knowing_ he was in too deep,  _knowing_ this had gotten too far,  _knowing_ that if there was a slip-up now, then it'd all be for nothing. He  _wasn't_ going to have it be for nothing. He wasn't going to let Cameron's life be lost and not have there be any repercussions. He wasn't going to let her win.

He just had to stop.

And he had to  _think._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"My hair looks stupid," Cameron whined.

"It matches your personality," Gunter grumbled. To which Cameron muttered: "Rude…"

"This was the best picture out of all of them; you still look like you got hit by a truck, but at least you look like you got hit by a  _smaller_ truck," Dina snapped, and Cameron made a face, muttering to himself that they all weren't as fun anymore, and he didn't appreciate their sudden attitudes. "Just be grateful someone took you and everything else at such short notice. And thank your  _lucky stars_ your  _producer_ knows just the right people to talk to, and slapped this all together in the nick of time."

"And that  _I_ was so quick on advertising the whole thing." Jordan was the only one that wasn't being a stick in the mud— the only one that wasn't huffing or complaining or announcing for quite literally the millionth time that this was 'stupid' and 'idiotic' and 'going to kill him.' He was excited, as he held the iPad out for Cameron to see. And even though he wasn't a fan of the photo they'd had to use, he was at least appreciative that one member of this team wasn't mentally plotting to kill him. That was always nice.

It had all been thrown together as best it possibly could. None of them had slept last night, and it was all showing on their faces by this point. But still…they'd managed it. They'd gotten the attention he needed. The attention that would hopefully be enough. Dina had started making calls the second they'd gotten into the car, and she had worked long and hard to get someone to take the bait. Calling as many networks as she could, that had ever shown any interest at all in having Cameron Black perform in a special. And there were plenty; the entire year he'd spent off from performing, Dina had pestered him every single day with them,  _pleading_ for him to just  _take_ one of their offers and put on a show again. He'd refused time and again because he didn't want to do it without Johnny. That's what she'd told them, in turn.

Now, obviously, the tide had changed just a little bit.

Now,  _she_ was calling  _them._ Asking if they had any room in their program for Cameron, who had had a sudden change of heart. Who was suddenly  _very_ keen on performing, and  _yes,_ he  _did_ have a whole new show, and it was ready to go, and all they had to do was provide the stage and the cameras, and he would give them the best magic show that had ever been put on live TV. It was a year in the making, of course— how could it  _not_ be the best thing ever? It was all lined up for them: the famous Cameron Black, finally coming back to magic. And to top it all off, he had brand new material. She set it all up, pitching it over the phone, which wasn't all that great a thing to do, and it was even less great of a thing to do at the hour of night she was trying to push it.

But it was taken. Someone took the bait, and accepted, and from then it was just a Twitter post away into hopefully getting together everything they needed. They did some crappy, picture— the picture Cameron was currently mourning over. It was barely professional at all, though it didn't really  _need_ to be  _too_ professional. Cameron just changed into a new, crisp suit. They'd taken off the picture frames and posters of a section of the archive, so the backdrop could be simple brick. It was something cheesy; Cameron couldn't do much. Just standing hurt like hell. It was a miracle he could do that and still smile at the same time, so that was all they really did.

Kay had taken the picture of Cameron grinning and splaying out a deck of cards. A cheesy stance, but it was a trademark one, and they weren't really being that nitpicky on the details of this that didn't matter. The second the photo had been taken, Cameron was practically collapsing into the nearest chair, the smile being replaced with agonizing pain. But he'd brushed everyone off, just rushing Jordan on doing the step that actually mattered. A Twitter post with that photo, and an announcement of Cameron's 'return' to the home screen.

And an enticing promise that anyone who tweeted the hashtag: 'BackInBlack' would be entered to win a free VIP ticket to the performance, the date of which would be announced later, and a backstage pass. Which Dina hadn't  _exactly_ ironed out with the network? But that wasn't all that important. What  _was_ important…was the response. And  _man,_ did they get a response. Hundreds and thousands of tweets, excitedly welcoming his return, asking when the show would be  _exactly,_ demanding to know why the sudden change in heart, asking if Jonathan was going to be there with him— a million different things, but they all had one thing in common.

The hashtag at the end, which was now trending.

The hashtag that might get Jonathan's attention somehow.

"Some advertising," Gunter snapped, and Jordan rolled his eyes in exasperation. "A five-year-old could have made a better hashtag."

"Then we should have asked them for help instead of you, because  _you_  certainly didn't offer any other ideas when we asked," Jordan quipped.

Gunter shook his head. "This whole thing is made out of popsicle sticks and glue," he growled.

"Yeah, but it's like…gorilla glue," Cameron countered. Gunter didn't take kindly to the retort. Which was a huge shock. "This part doesn't even  _matter_ anyway; Jordan where are we at?" Jordan replied by holing up the tablet to display the trending list. So far, they were at number six, and only climbing. Cameron shot a pointed look at Gunter, who was apparently resigned enough not to keep complaining, at least out loud. " _That's_ the only part that's important; we can worry about the details of everything else later. When we find Jonathan, and bring him back, and make him stop acting like a moron—  _so!"_ He turned to look at Kay. "Where was he the last time you heard?"

Her eyes flashed as she looked at him. She was quiet for a heartbeat, before she shook her head. "He was just…heading out of the city. The car he stole showed back up in Pennsylvania. He wasn't anywhere to be found, though; he must have stolen another one. But I wasn't able to…" Cameron stared at her, waiting. Her face fell, and her eyes flickered down and away from him. He frowned. "I can try and ask Mike again if there's anything he can tell me, but he's likely to say no…he's already gave us too much. And I couldn't ask him to put himself in the way of Deakins if she found out…"

Cameron looked back front, flinching but seeming more caught up in his disappointment. He bit down on his lower lip, his eyes flickering back and forth at nothing as he tried to think. The others all let him have the silence, and it was a few moments before he spoke, his voice hard but careful. "Okay— we got my name out there. Now we need to…we need to find MW before Jonathan does. That's our best bet— otherwise we'll just be wandering around looking for him and wasting time. If we get MW, then either  _we_ find him, or police do, but the  _point_ is that nothing goes any wrong than it  _already_ has."

"That's all well and good, except we couldn't find MW  _before,"_  Dina pointed out. "What makes now any different? What makes you think we can find her?"

The frown stayed on Cameron's face. For a second, it looked like he was just almost inclined to meet her question with a dumb 'I don't know.' The temptation certainly flickered over his face. Before he blinked a couple times, and his expression cleared. He started to straighten up in his realization, but the movement was too jerky, and his sides split in pain. He choked and flinched, ducking his head and flinching hard. Jordan jerked in alarm and Dina rushed out as if to help him. The look on Kay's face was too difficult to read, but her stiffen was noticeable.

He waved them all off, though.

He just sat back in his chair, shaking his head once and declaring: "Because now, we have something she needs."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_It happened too quickly. It happened before anyone could stop it. Before anyone could intervene. Before anyone could even really realize what was happening…it happened. One moment Cameron was thirty feet in the air, perfectly fine. And then he was twenty-nine feet in the air. And then he was twenty-eight feet, twenty-seven, twenty-six, plunging towards the ground and falling like a weight. Before, the crowd had been dead silent. Tense, watching the trick begin to unfold with bated breath and barely-held-in-excitement. When it had happened, that all had been shattered. When it happened, they began to scream. Not screams of exhilaration or wonder, but screams of horror. Panic. Terror. Confusion. Like they weren't exactly sure whether or not this was part of the trick._

_It_ wasn't _part of the trick. Not at all._

_The screaming was the only thing he'd heard. The only thing he had to go off of._

_Something had gone horribly wrong. He wasn't sure what. All Jonathan_ did _know was that he was stuck._

 _He wanted to run out there. He wanted to tear out of the room he was waiting in backstage, he wanted to sprint out to wherever his brother was, and shove aside anyone that dared try and get in his way. He didn't know what happened, but instinctively, he wanted to run out for his brother— he wanted to do_ something _other than just stand here. He wanted to do all of those things, but he couldn't do a single one of them. It took everything in him to stay put. He knew that eventually someone would come— someone from the team would come for him, and they would tell him what happened. How there was a tiny misstep in the trick, but they'd fixed it, or Cameron did something on the fly like he had the tendency to do and it had just shocked the audience._

_He told himself that it was fine. It had to be. The trick would keep going. When it was all over Cameron would run and give him a high-five, and smile triumphantly because Jonathan had said over and over that this whole 'Leap of Death' thing was stupid from the very beginning. He reassured himself of it over and over and over again. Trying to get the audience's screaming out of his head. Trying not to let the silence get to him. Trying to forget that there had been thirty feet of distance between Cameron and the ground. Trying to forget the rehearsal where Cameron had loudly burst out that they didn't need a safety net because nothing would go wrong in the first place, and it would just take away the thrill of the act._

_Jonathan paced the tiny area, running his fingers through his hair and mussing it up, digging his nails down into his skull hard enough to cause pain. Nobody came. He wasn't sure what time it was. He never wore a watch during shows, it usually got in the way. And there wasn't a clock anywhere in here. His lack of knowledge just made it worse— made it feel like entire years were going by._

_He paced and paced and only grew more agitated the longer he was left to wait. The minutes dragged by and stacked into tens. He was muttering every curse word he'd ever heard throughout the duration of his life, and he had quite the vocabulary. His hair was a complete mess, and he was thinking of every way he was going to punch Cameron when he saw his brother again, for doing something stupid and worrying him for no reason at all. He'd punch him in the face, and then he'd punch him in the stomach, and then he'd punch him in the face_ again _, and then he'd punch him in the shoulder, and then he'd punch him—_

 _The door_ finally  _opened. Jonathan whirled around the second it did, and he found himself face-to-face with Dina. She looked absolutely stricken, like she'd seen a ghost. Jonathan had been on the other side of the room – granted, it still wasn't very much of a distance when the size of the room was considered – but once he realized it was her, he was rushing back towards her. She shut the door quickly behind her the same instant he stopped less than three inches away. "What in the world!?" he hissed, absolutely furious despite the low volume of his voice. She just stared at him blankly. He was focusing only on his anger, trying to ignore the look on her face and how it was making his heart pick up and stutter into panic. "Where have you been!? I've been waiting for ages, what happened!?"_

 _Despite the urgency of his questions, and the look in his eye, Dina remained silent for a moment. She just stared at him with that blank look he couldn't quite understand. She opened her mouth but said nothing. It was like her will to say something was there, it just couldn't actually come to be. Jonathan's expression began to crumble. For a second, he weakened, and a certain kind of desperation began to cloud over his face instead. Before he steeled himself and wiped it all away, taking in a quick breath and just repeating his question. "Dina!" he snapped, and she blinked fast, straightening like she was being roused from a stupor._ "What happened!?"

_Her eyes grew shinier with tears. His heart was already dropping ten stories even before she finally choked out: "Cameron…"_

_She stopped short there. Jonathan was tense, that desperation slowly gaining strength again. When he spoke, his voice was noticeably weaker. Quickly becoming strained._ "Cameron what!?"  _She still said nothing, and he began to lose his grip, reaching out and grabbing hard to Dina's arms and starting to shake her. "Cameron_ what!?" _he snapped. "What did Cameron do!?"_

" _He fell," she croaked, the words falling out numb from her tongue. She wasn't even jarred with the shaking— she only stared at him despairingly. And that sorrow was only multiplied on itself as she saw the effects of her words. Jonathan let go of her at once, like she was too hot to the touch. His eyes rounded out in shock and panic, and he fell silent as he struggled to digest the conclusion he'd been too stubborn to make himself. He took his arms back and began to stagger away from her. Only tiny steps, because that was all he could manage. She may as well have punched him._

 _When he found his ability to speak again, his voice was flat, and nothing but a whisper. "No," he rejected, sounding more than sure. Dina weakened, and her tough front began to break. Her lower lip began to tremble, and the first tear fell. Jonathan was still shaking his head, though. "No, no he— he didn't fall," he croaked. "He didn't fall, we practiced this a million times. He could do it in his_ sleep, _he didn't fall, you're lying. Where is he?" Dina closed her eyes tightly and ducked her head down close to her chest. He repeated himself, speaking louder now. Angrier._ "Where is he!?"

" _They rushed him to the hospital," she sobbed, and the sorrow in her voice was so deep and so hollow that Jonathan's fury began to melt away. It was replaced by shock instead. He went numb with it, just staring at her. Remembering the pure fear that had been in the screams of the audience. "He fell, there was— something was wrong with the safety harness, he didn't tell any of us! One second he was— and the next— there was nothing we could do, we tried to get there in time, but it was no use, he just— the sound was—" She was choking on her words, unbale to finish a single thought. "They rushed him away, Gunter and Jordan went after him, but I had to tell you, I— I couldn't leave until you knew."_

_Silence followed her words, swallowing up everything completely. If a pin was dropped, they would have gone deaf from the sound it made. Jonathan just stared at her as she kept crumbling. As she hid her head down in her hands and began to cry. The numb expression stayed put on his face for quite some time as he just watched her. When the numbness began to ebb, he could feel his own eyes beginning to sting, his chest beginning to constrict in panic and alarm. He looked from her to the door. Eventually, he rasped: "Was he okay?" A stupid question in its technical meaning, but she knew what he was trying to ask instead. He just couldn't get the actual words out._

_His stomach fell away completely when the question only made her cry harder. Clearly, she'd come into this wanting to keep herself collected and composed. But everything was easier said than done, and this was no exception. "He was unconscious, and he wouldn't— he wouldn't wake up." Again, Jonathan's eyes were moving from her to the door. His throat was getting tighter, and his vision was smearing more and more. That pent-up feeling he'd had before, where he'd just wanted to run out and see everything for himself, was nearly impossible to ignore by this point. "He was— there was blood everywhere, I— the paramedics took him away before I could really—" She closed her eyes in a deep cringe. She shook her head and swallowed hard. "No, he wasn't," she answered thickly._

" _I have to see him," Jonathan muttered, starting to move for the door._

_She looked up, her eyes going wide. Immediately, she stepped to the side. "Jonathan, you can't!"_

_He stopped short, taken aback. In the moment, he was just confused and angry. Furious that she would keep this from him. Reality came back quickly enough, though it did nothing for his anger. In fact, it just made him glare at her._ "I have to see him," _he repeated, a little slower this time— a little harder._

" _I'm taking you back to the hotel," Dina insisted, and his scowl only deepened. "Jonathan, I know you're upset, and I know you want to see him, but you and I both know you can't. You have to come back with me. I can call you with updates, Jonathan, but you_ know  _you can't go to the hospital too." She added this last part much more strained, seeing that he only got angrier and angrier. It was practically coming off him in waves. "The sooner you get back to the hotel, the sooner you can know how he's doing, please just—"_

" _Are you_ kidding _me!?" he all but spat. Dina cringed away, her lips wavering as more tears streaked down her face. Jonathan wasn't really in the mood to stop and care, though. "Cameron fell thirty feet, he's being driven to the hospital with who knows_ what  _kind of injuries, and you're not going to let me go_ with _him!? You're going to keep up this stupid charade!?_ Now!?"  _She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. He swept on, his own tears beginning to spill over. Though for him it was hard to tell what fueled them more: his frustration, or his sorrow. "Is that really all you can think about!? The_ act!?  _He could die!" His voice splintered on this cry. Dina flinched again. "He could die, and I can't see him!?"_

_She grimaced. "Jonathan, please…" she tried._

" _I can't believe you!" he yelled. "I'd expect something like this from the others, but_ not  _from you!" She looked at him helplessly, her face wet with tears. But he wasn't in the mood for doling out sympathy. "I'm going to go see him!_ Fuck _the act!" Fuck everything. Fuck their dad for making them carry out this dumb plan in the first place and drilling it into their heads, fuck this stupid act he hadn't even wanted to do in the first place, fuck Dina for thinking she had the right to take his brother away from him, fuck Cameron for not telling anyone about the safety harness, fuck Cameron for thinking he could get away with whatever stupid_  shit _he'd thought would work instead, fuck Cameron for falling, fuck Cameron for being taken away by paramedics, fuck Cameron for being so far away, fuck Cameron for dying and leaving him here by himself and—_

" _Jonathan!" He hadn't realized how much his breathing had escalated. He was practically gasping by the time Dina was reaching out to steady him. He staggered again, and she held tighter, concern breaking through the sorrow on her face. "Jonathan, look at me," she pleaded. He did, and he realized something else that had gone unnoticed up until this point: tears were streaming down his cheeks. He hadn't even felt them, he was so preoccupied. It was difficult to keep his breath from hitching, or his expression from crumbling. It was impossible, even, as both of those things were quickly unraveling from him. "Jonathan, please," she begged, weaker now as she saw his growing distress._

_He wanted to fight her. He wanted to scream at her, because it was that stupid. He knew it was stupid. But it was also engrained. And he knew that Cameron wouldn't want him to. Did that matter? If Cameron didn't make it, what did it matter? Didn't it matter for him to be able to see him again? Twenty-four years and they had kept this secret— now he couldn't even give it away to see his brother when he needed it the most? And yet…at the same time…wouldn't going out there anyway be admitting defeat too early? Admitting that there wasn't any hope of Cameron making it out of this? Was that even too soon a thing to consider?_

_His thoughts were everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All at once, and yet nothing at all._

_He didn't shrug Dina off, or snap at her. In fact, all he could do was stare at her dismally as his foundations continued to fall out from underneath him. She held his gaze and waited for his answer, but he didn't have one right now. Right now, all he had was a question. "What if he doesn't make it?" he choked. Her eyes watered with a fresh wave of tears, and his inhales only became sharper. "What if he dies?" he whispered. "…What if he dies and I'm not there with him when he does?"_

Jonathan had never lived in a small town. One of the 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' places. He'd never once really even  _been_ in one. Growing up they hadn't had a real home in general; they had the archive, of course, but they were constantly travelling so much that when the word 'home' was said, all that came to mind for him and Cameron both were mostly hotel rooms, or even dressing rooms, if you were Cameron and that one time he was so exhausted after a show he dropped like dead weight  _right_ in front of Jonathan and nearly tripped him in the process. He hadn't even been awake to hear him yell at him— the second he hit the floor he was out cold. Jonathan had almost twisted his ankle. Unfortunately, that had happened more than once.

But no matter what it was, it was always big cities. Places where there would a big audience. That took small towns out of the equation. So this was an entirely new… _feeling._ It  _felt_ different than anywhere else he'd been. It felt like it was an entirely separate world. Something closed off from everything else, and, if you looked at it hard enough, you might be fooled into thinking this was all there was. That none of the bustling cities that had been his entire life didn't exist. It was quiet; it was calm, it had the air of a place that didn't care at all what was taking place outside its tiny perimeter because they were so detached from it.

This town had a population somewhere around 80. Maybe 90.

But if you didn't know that number, you might think it was a population of one.

You might feel like you were the only person that existed.

Which was good. It was what he needed. It was ideal.

So…if that was true, why did he need to keep telling himself that?

He'd always wanted to be alone. When they were growing up, as they got older…it was how all siblings were. All siblings fought— they just had the luxury of walking away from those fights. They had the option of leaving the house, of taking time to themselves, of calling friends and complaining and getting someone to tell them they were in the right, that what their sibling did was ridiculous. He hadn't had that. When he and Cameron fought, they still had to practice together an hour later. When they fought he didn't have the chance to leave— the most he could do was storm off into another room and just hope Cameron didn't follow him. He didn't have anyone to talk to because the only other person that knew he existed was his father, and that was out the window.

So all the time, he'd find himself wishing it. And sometimes even  _without_  the fights, the desire would cross his mind: that he just wanted to be  _alone._ To  _have_ that luxury other people had— to be really… _truly_ alone.

Now…

Now, he had that.

Now he was…

All alone.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _There_ you are."

She roused, turning at the voice but already weakening. Cameron had rounded the corner; now, he was standing, leaning heavily against the wall. His face was pinched over with pain; Kay could hear his shaky breathing even from where she was. She said nothing. In fact, her lips pressed together even more when their eyes met. Cameron took a second to catch his breath from the exertion it took to get all the way over here. 'All the way over' being just about halfway across the archive. They'd been in the library when Kay had left. They'd been planning— or, Cameron had been trying to persuade the others to think along his lines. A feat that was never easy when it came to the kind of ideas he had.

Cameron shook his head to clear it, and he frowned at the look on her face. "What's wrong?" She crossed her arms over her chest, ducking her head and looking down at the ground. It just made him frown even more. "…Kay?" he mumbled. She glanced at him, but still couldn't seem to get the words. Her eyes went to his arm, which was locked around his stomach like he was trying not to be sick. He was ashen and gray, and it looked like he was starting to shake. Her eyes flashed, and her lips pursed even more. He weakened. There was a long moment of silence, before he offered softly: "Kay, I'm sorry."

She looked away again. Cameron deflated even more. "I  _am_ ," he pressed. "I'm…sorry for all of it. I'm sorry for…for helping her, I'm sorry for getting you into trouble. And I'm sorry for Jonathan. I tried to fix things the best I could, but…" He trailed off, grimacing. She glanced at him again, and this time she looked at him longer, pained at the expression that was on his face. At all the hurt he was holding back, and just making worse by standing there. "And I know sorry doesn't get me anywhere," he pressed, a little weaker. "I just…I'm trying to fix it. But I don't want…"

He hesitated. Before he took in a fast breath and got out: "The last thing I wanted to do was…to hurt you. I didn't want us to…" He couldn't finish the thought. At least she wasn't looking away from him, anymore. At least she was turning to face him fully. Though, depending on how you looked at it, that could be considered a bad thing as well. He had to lean more against the wall. It was hard to breathe around the stitch in his side that was only getting worse. But he tried anyway. "Are we okay? Are we…are you…?"

It was a moment before she could find her voice. Even when she did, she was sure it wasn't the right words. "You helped her." The three words were flat, and they were dull. Hollow. They made Cameron falter a little, and his hand slipped a bit on the wall. He was quick to push himself back up, though it wasn't without a horrible flinch.

The look he wore was contrite. But his voice was steady. "I didn't have a choice. And when I finally got the chance to make one for myself, I chose to do the right thing." She blinked. Looked back down at the ground. "I could have done things differently. Probably. I could have done a lot of things differently…but…I tried to do what was best for  _everyone_. It didn't work out that way, but…I tried. I did the best I could." He waited for her to reply, but the most he got was her just looking back at him. She still seemed strained. He tried to edge on. "I don't…I don't want to…have this between us." The words were a little awkward. Her shoulders drooped. He tried to smile at her. But it felt weak, even to him. "We're partners…right?"

He got nothing.

Cameron's eyebrows drew together more as he looked at her. "Kay." His voice was more pleading, now. She closed her eyes. "Say  _something,"_ he implored, smiling only because it was easier to try and find humor in the situation than the awkwardness and betrayal. "Tell me I'm— tell me I'm stupid, tell me I'm…the worst person you've ever had the misfortune of knowing, tell me I'm not worth the trouble I've brought you! Tell me you don't want to work with me anymore because I helped MW, tell me you're never going to trust me again, tell me that it doesn't matter what I  _tried_ to do, it only matters what actually happened!" He laughed, but it was upset, and it was nervous. Frayed at the edges, and weak. " _Say_ something!" he repeated. "Let me have it!"

Still, she was quiet. Staring off to the side. Before, not even looking at him, she snapped tensely: "You scared me."

He blinked, starting to straighten but immediately stopping when the tiny movement caused pain to stab into his side and his head to spin. He had to wait for the spell to pass, but once it did, he made a face. "I  _scared_  you?" he repeated. She just crossed her arms even tighter. His confusion only mounted. "How did I  _scare_  you?" She didn't answer. Habitually, with this uncomfortable silence, he was attempting a joke. "You know what, that's not even fair, because you scare me on a  _daily_  basis. You remember that one day I—"

"This was  _different,_ Cameron." And it was the flatness of her voice and the emotion behind it that shut him up. He went silent immediately, just staring at her. She took her time but eventually went on, her voice as tense as her posture was. "You  _really_ scared me," she muttered. "The second I realized you were going to be stuck in that vault, I…" She swallowed hard and shook her head. "And seeing you on the ground like that…and when your heart— it  _stopped,_ Cameron, you were  _dead._ And nothing we were doing was working, and I thought…" Cameron's expression was soberer now. She had to clear her throat before she went on. "And in the hospital, we thought you wouldn't even wake up— or we…thought when you did, you might not be  _you,_ and nobody knew anything for sure, and…"

It was Cameron's turn to look down at the floor, this time.

Her words were frailer when she insisted: "You  _scared_ me. I was  _terrified_." She looked at the way he was fighting to stay upright, the sick pallor to his face. "And I'm not good at being scared," she murmured, softer with this.

Cameron wilted when he looked back at her. His voice was softer as well. "I'm…I'm fine now, though, I—"

"But you're  _not_ , Cameron," she cut him off. He sighed, closing his eyes briefly. She regained some of her sternness. "You should have stayed at the hospital, you shouldn't be out here. You shouldn't be doing all of this— you're practically falling over right  _now,_ and you're not even doing anything!" The more she talked, the closer she got to actually yelling. Cameron was already wincing away. "Your heart stopped, you went so long without oxygen, you have broken ribs—you need  _rest,_ you need someone to make sure there's nothing else wrong, that there won't be any more complications besides these! You don't need to be out here, you don't need to be doing all this! What if something happens? What if you—?" The question died. She couldn't force it out.

Cameron answered anyway. "I'll be fine, Kay," he objected gently. "It's fine."

"You don't know that," she snapped.

He tried to take in a breath that was deeper and slower, to help collect himself. His ribs weren't exactly too keen on letting him take in too much, though. "You're right," he murmured after a pause. She looked at him, clearly upset now. He held her gaze, though. "You're right, I  _don't_ know that. But what I  _do_ know, is that if I don't do something – if  _we_ don't do something – then Jonathan is going to make a  _big_ mistake. I know that I won't be able to help my brother, if I don't find him or help him find  _me."_ She said nothing, but some of the fire left her expression. Her arms relaxed down to her sides. "I'll go back to the hospital as  _soon_ as I fix this. As  _soon_ as I find Jonathan. But until then…I  _have_ to do this, Kay. I can't let him get into trouble because of me— not again."

She looked at him dismally. But his stare stayed earnest. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he apologized. "I'm sorry for  _everything._ I  _am._ But I need to do this." He paused, before he added slower: "And…I really want us to be okay again." Her eyes tracked him as he shifted, grimacing against another stab of pain and moving to lean even more against the wall. He shook it off, trying to focus. "I really would like my partner's help," he revised, his expression managing to warm, even against the agony.

Kay was silent, inwardly debating. Staring at him with a look that was far too complicated to try and piece apart. For a moment, Cameron was under the impression she would say no. His heart was already sinking— his disappointment was already beginning to burn under his skin. Before she gave a tiny nod and relented. "Okay," she murmured, and at once, Cameron was lighting up. He grinned widely, and he could have sworn Kay was trying to fight her own smile, at the immediate reaction. Maybe that was too optimistic. At the very least, some of the tension melted off her shoulders. Some of her nerves seemed to fade, and she seemed the smallest bit lighter. Though she still eyed Cameron warily as he clung to the wall.

"There we go— now we're back in business!" Kay shook her head. In her same old 'Why-Do-I-Put-Up-With-You' shake that Cameron was well-acquainted with by now, and had decided, at this point, to take it as a token of affection. And the look of half-irritated indulgence only grew more apparent on Kay's face when he stood with difficulty, reaching out with his good arm and grasping at the air like a little kid might do when they were trying to reach a toy. "Now let me steal from you," he cheered.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_He was going insane. Every second felt like a minute. Every minute felt like an hour. So on and so forth. The very instant they'd managed to get back to the hotel, Dina was leaving. She was spouting apologies and promising she would call him with news, but she was leaving him behind. Putting the 'Do Not Disturb' up on the door, the needed detail every time either of them were left behind in the room for anything, she had practically sprinted back out the way she'd come, leaving Jonathan behind with nothing to do but sit and wait for something to come to him._

_He'd always been horrible at waiting. He was better than Cameron, that was for sure. If you told Cameron to wait just_ five minutes _for a surprise, he would already be whining and complaining before you could even finish your sentence. Jonathan had the title of 'More Mature Twin' and with that came the better sense of patience. Usually he was telling Cameron to calm down or stop fidgeting or stop asking when they would be done waiting because they had about three more hours to go, to which he'd fling his head back and groan like it was the world's biggest inconvenience. But now he was taking up the role. Now he was climbing the walls, he was pacing back and forth across the room. He was burning from the inside out._

_He was trying to keep himself in check, but it was like he was trying to force a lid to stay on top of a too-full pot that was beginning to boil over. He would have been handling himself better, but it had been hours. And with every passing hour, it only got worse. His hands were shaking, his thoughts were racing. He sat on the bed, paced around the room, sat at the desk, all the while trying to force himself to sleep and only managing a couple hours at a time. He watched the clock and watched as dull light began to peek through the curtains. Slowly, ever so slowly, going crazier and crazier._

_The very second the phone rung, he was answering it. It barely was through with its second ring, and he yanked it to his ear. He'd been trying to sleep more, because it was nearly night again and he had still only managed a small handful of hours here and there. He was dozing off and almost able to actually fall asleep, when the ring had snapped him back aware. Despite this, Jonathan jerked up immediately and yanked his phone up to his ear. "Hello!?" he all but snapped. "Hello!?"_

" _Jonathan." Dina's voice was strange to hear. He'd never heard her this way before— choked and weak and congested. And scratchy, like she was losing her voice. In the fact of it he wasn't sure what to say. So there was a beat of silence before she went on. "Jonathan, I'm so sorry, I meant to come back, I was— I know there's not much to eat there, and I'm sorry, it's just been a mess, it—"_

" _I don't care about that!" he snapped, and immediately he regretted the sharper tone he'd slipped into. He cringed, shaking his head as he ducked it low to his chest. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm— just tell me how he is." He lost everything with the request. All the energy left him. He opened his eyes and stared at the blankets of the hotel bed through blurry vision. "Just tell me how he is, Dina," he repeated, and he sounded much more clenched when he had to repeat himself. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead. "You can tell me something, right? He's alright now? You've been there all day, he's— he's fine now, right?"_

_There was a very long pause, and he hated what it sounded like. He cringed, already deflating in disappointment over what he knew she was struggling to get out. He found himself immediately switching gears. Not hoping for the best, but pleading for the worst-case scenario not to be true. 'Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please still be here, please, please, please…' "He's in intensive care," Dina croaked eventually, and at once his eyes snapped back open. It wasn't much. But it was something. Cameron was intensive care, but he was alive. "The…doctors haven't been able to tell us what the outlook is, it's…we've only seen him once and it was only a glimpse. He…"_

_Jonathan was staring intently, not even blinking. He knew the second he blinked, all the tears would start rushing down his cheeks, and he didn't want that right now. He would do it when he hung up with Dina. But right now, he had to keep himself composed. Though he couldn't ignore the swelling in his throat when she continued, sounding even weaker. "His…he has so many broken bones. His ribs, his hips, his leg, his…shoulder, he's still in surgery again right now— but Jonathan, the instant he got here, he—" She broke off and this time the silence was too long. He couldn't wait through it._

"What!?" _he all but yelled._

" _His heart!" the reply was sharp and pained, and just reflexively spit out, when he snapped at her. Jonathan jerked backwards, like she'd slapped him. Horror froze itself over his face. He nearly dropped the phone; his grip went so slack. Somehow, he managed to keep it by his ear. But he was more than sure he was going to throw up when he listened to her go on. He could tell she was on the same exact threshold, though. "His…we weren't told a lot, because there wasn't time. But there was…it was…something_ ruptured _, they said. They said he— because of the way he fell, and how high it was, he…barley made it in the first place, and they're not sure if he's strong enough to—"_

" _He's strong enough," Jonathan spat, before she was even through. He scowled at the very implication he wouldn't be— he was_ livid  _at it. "He's strong enough, don't you_ dare  _say that." It was getting harder and harder to hide the fact he was crying now, but at this point he didn't really care enough to try and keep up the charade. "Don't— don't say it, don't— you can't say that. You can't." His words got smaller and smaller. Less and less coherent the more there were. There was a dead silence to meet his command, and he sniffed, rubbing his forehead and trying to take in a slower, more controlled breath. He thought of his brother alone in some hospital room. He thought of what would happen when he_ was  _allowed visitors. How the team would be with him, but Jonathan wouldn't. Couldn't. "Don't say it," he pleaded weakly, after what felt like forever. "Don't say he's not strong enough…"_

_Dina continued her silence. Before: "…You're right. I'm sorry."_

_Jonathan sniffed again, feeling like his own heart was going to stop beating. Like it was in too much pain to. "Don't come back here," he ordered. The confusion was unspoken, but it was clear. He went on before she could ask. "Don't come back here, I want you to— don't leave his side. When you can. And call me if anything happens— if_ anything  _happens. Please."_

" _Jonathan, I can just run there and—"_

" _Promise me you'll stay with him!" he yelled, cutting her off. He felt his tears well over now, but he didn't care anymore. "Promise me you won't leave him!_ Promise _you'll be there for him!"_

_She took her time to deliver the vow. When she did, it was hardly audible. "We won't leave him."_

_Jonathan closed his eyes in a cringe. He took in a shaking breath. And though he tried to make his voice brighter, it was still much too teary and congested once it came to be. "Good," he croaked. "…Good."_

There was a payphone. The town was  _so_ archaic there was actually still a payphone— a bit rusted and unused, but standing. Granted, New York still had payphones. But that was because the city was so bustling— so crowded and busy and all-at-once. In this situation, it seemed more appropriate to assume the only reason the phone was still there was simply because the town had _forgotten_  it was there. That, or they didn't find the need to do anything with it. He wondered if it worked. He wondered if he could call anyone.

He could call Dina— his mind went to her, first. He could call her and ask what was happening…ask her what was  _going_ to happen, from here. Not that he didn't already know the answer to that. Mostly, he just wanted to hear her voice. Hear  _someone's_ voice he actually recognized. And she was always the kindest of the group…though that might be his own personal bias getting in the way of things. It was tempting, and it was the first thing that went through his mind when his eyes caught on it. He almost caved.

But he couldn't. He kept going.

The second he called Dina, this entire thing would be over. And it  _couldn't_ be over. Not when he hadn't finished it yet.

And for it keep going, he needed two things. One of which had to come before the other.

If he was going to get them, it was best to get them  _here_. Somewhere as nondescript and closed-off as he could manage to find. It was his best bet, anyway. Taking in all his gambles up to now and their results, that didn't really amount to very much. But by this point, bets were the only thing Jonathan still had. So he kept going, putting everything else out of his mind and just focusing on the task at hand. The town was tiny— so tiny that it looked like it only had one really big general store. But he recognized the name— it was one of those cheap Family Dollar stores he'd only been in about once or twice. There was only one of them around where they lived. And when it came to shopping, Cameron tended to camp out at Target and practically _hiss_  at even the  _mention_  of going anywhere else.

At first, the memory caused a tiny smile to tug at the edge of Jonathan's lips. As he remembered Cameron throwing down about a million different Target bags in front of him after getting home and demanding he smell the six different candles he'd bought because "There was a sale." It made his chest warm, it made his eyes soften. But it was quick to wash away, and when it did, and when his face fell again, he was left feeling even hollower. Emptier. He ducked his head underneath the weight of the emotion, which was just as good, because at that same moment he was crossing over the threshold of the store.

It was a decent-sized place. Enormous, really, when you compare it to the town it was located in. Or, at least, these people probably thought it was huge. And Jonathan's faint recollection of being in a store like this previously was proven right: it had a small sample of basically anything you might need. Which made sense, considering this was just about the only store in the whole area. Jonathan kept his head down as he walked, but in glancing up every now and then, he could see that there wasn't too much reason to. Yet. There were three cashiers, all busy checking someone out. All of them were wrapped up in a conversation with the customer, too distracted to even notice him when he slipped in. He could hear the scattered bits of each conversation as he walked.

"Do you think so? I just got it cut this way, I wasn't sure…"

"Did you hear about Mary and Paul? I  _know!_ I never would have thought!"

"How is Emily doing? Is she still having problems with fractions?"

They all knew each other. They were all more than friendly, more than invested. Engrossed in each other and their everyday lives, so, at least for now, Jonathan could skirt around the edges of their bubble and go unnoticed. He knew it was a fine line to walk. He knew that the basic fact that he  _wasn't_ familiar could attract attention. He knew he had to be careful. So he quickened his pace a bit and ducked into the nearest aisle he could, to get out of sight. There weren't too many other people in the store. He got a few glances as he walked by, but nothing major, especially when he kept going. He told himself over and over again not to get comfortable, or too at ease. He wasn't  _that_ far away from New York. A small town like this was his best bet, but at the same time, there was still a risk of someone recognizing him. At the very least, he could pretend to be Cameron again, but…

He didn't want to do that. If he could avoid it.

He kept walking. Skirting through the aisles so that he avoided as many people as possible. It didn't take long at all for him to find what he was looking for. There was a whole shelf, and he frowned, trying to just pick one that would be good enough. He really didn't care, he just needed  _something._ He was just about to reach out and get one, when there was a voice behind him. "Are you dyeing your hair?" He stiffened and turned, a little bit too harshly, to see the woman who had just veered into the same aisle as him. Her smile turned a bit awkward when he did, but her expression and her voice alike were friendly. He didn't answer her at first; he just stared. Her smile turned even more awkward. She nodded at the box he was currently stretching his hand out to. "You're changing to black?"

He blinked a couple times. Looked between her, and the box, and he snapped himself out of it. He grabbed it and brought it the rest of the way back. "Uh…yeah," he offered. "I figured it was…time for a change." The words fell a little flat, even to him. He started to give her a tiny nod and duck away, when she was speaking again, and he had to stop. He trained his gaze more towards the ground, so she wouldn't see his frustration.

"That's too bad," she remarked, her grin turning a bit sheepish. "You look good with brown hair."

He smiled again, trying not to let his impatience show. "Thanks."

He tried to leave a second time, and for a second time, she stopped him. "I'm Katie," she blurted out, and Jonathan gritted his teeth to keep back his groan. He waited, knowing there was more. Sure enough, she still kept smiling at him. Still kept wringing her hands, like she was nervous. "I'm— I'm sorry, don't I…?" His irritation leaked away a little. His forced smile dropped. "But don't I know you?" she asked. He said absolutely nothing. She kept talking, just to fill the silence. "I'm sorry, I just— you look  _so_ familiar, for some reason, and I just can't…put my finger on where I know you from." He stayed mute. Her eyebrows drew together. "We've met before, right? I'm  _positive_  I've seen you somewhere."

Jonathan took his time debating on how to answer. Before he made a face and shook his head. "Not that I can remember." Her face fell. "Must be…one of those faces, I guess," he tried. She didn't seem so sure. He cleared his throat and began to turn, but she stopped him.

"Hang on…did you go to West Center?" she asked.

Jonathan hesitated, but after a moment offered: "Yeah."

She grinned. "That must be it," she declared. "I did too! I was on the cheerleading squad."

He nodded again a couple times. "I was on the football team."

Her smile just kept growing. "Yeah…yeah, that's gotta be where I know you from! I remember seeing you a couple times." People were idiots. It was a general fact Jonathan had learned growing up – call him cynical and the  _very_ opposite of his brother – but all the same. She was only further cementing the theory. "I'm so sorry, I…I forgot your name." She sounded genuinely upset over the blunder.

It was getting harder and harder to keep his smile going. "Jack."

Apparently, this was her final nail in the coffin. The coffin that didn't even exist in the first place. "Jack!" Her voice turned warm immediately, and Jonathan glanced off to the side. "I remember now! I haven't seen you in a while— well, I don't really see too many people from school anymore, a lot of them moved away." Jonathan didn't blame them. It would probably only take fifteen minutes to walk from one side of this place to the other. "Are you…just visiting, or…?" He nodded, and so did she. "That's— that's great! It's good to see you again." Jonathan nodded again, and he started to duck away. She stumbled out a bit to stop him. "Uh—" Inwardly, he was seething. "A lot of…people usually go to the bar down the road from here, on Friday nights. Around eight, you should— come, if you want. There's not too many people left from school, but there's a good handful. I'll be there," she added, more sheepishly. "It…might be fun. There's not too much else to do around here," she giggled.

He nodded, still backing away. "Maybe."

She still wore that dumb smile. "I'll look out for you," she promised.

He didn't react to this one; he just turned and started to actually walk away. Slipping the hair dye out of the box and heading the opposite way, trying not to roll his eyes.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It's not like there's a lot of places he could go," Dina piped up, pained as her eyes flickered over the map they'd spread out in front of them. They were all standing around the table, marking the spots Kay had known him to be suspected in last and trying to go on from there. Or…the others were standing. Cameron had been forced to sit in one of the chairs, his legs unable to keep supporting him, they were so shaky. Now he was hunched over, pale and shaking as he kept all his pain narrowed down to just a grimace. He was holding a lot back, but it was painfully clear by the way Dina and Kay especially kept glancing at him that it didn't matter so much.

He felt Dina's worried stare go to him again once she was through saying this, but he shoved it out of his mind. He just forced himself to sit forward a little more, so he could see the map better. So far there didn't seem to be a pattern; all the dots were just everywhere. Like Jonathan was just seeing how far and how pointlessly he could possibly drive before the police caught up with him. Which was  _dumb,_ but it would be something Cameron would gladly take over what he was  _actually_ doing.

"He's stalling," he croaked, his voice clenched tight with pain that shook under every word. Dina's eyes flashed again, and Kay weakened significantly as she took in his every detail. "He left without a plan— this is him just  _making_ one." Johnny never  _didn't_ have a plan. He always had  _something._ And if he didn't, he was quick to conjure something seemingly out of thin air. And this had just been the last Kay had known, or what she'd managed to worm out from Mike. "I mean, if he's really going after MW, he's just as clueless as we are about how to find her."

"Is that supposed to make us feel better?" Gunter demanded dryly.

Cameron shot him a look, not quite as inclined to joke around as much. The pain was beginning to get to him, and he had a high tolerance. His voice was thin and tight when he replied. "When you consider the two ways this situation could play out— yeah." He took in a slow breath and flinched as he shook his head. "The two  _main_ ways this could end, is  _he_ finds her, or she goes out and finds  _him_ first. Given that the police don't track him down themselves." Which would be one of the more best case scenarios, honestly, but whatever.

Gunter kept eyeing him. "Still waiting for the 'good news' part."

Cameron huffed. "It means no matter where Jonathan is right now, he's  _going_ to have to come back here. He won't have any other choice. So when he  _does,_ we can be waiting for him. Someone will be  _here,_ in case he comes here first, and the rest of us can find him. Some of us can stay in the city, some of us can even go a little way out, in case we can catch him earlier than that."

"You seem awfully sure," Gunter remarked. "What makes you think he'll come back  _here?_ This is where he ran  _away_  from."

"And it's where he's been staying in the  _vicinity_ of," Cameron retorted. "Obviously he doesn't have an actual place in mind to go— and why  _would_ he? If he left to go after MW, New York is the  _best_ bet he has. It's practically the  _only_  bet he has. Unless he wants to road trip the entirety of the United States, and I don't think that's on his to-do list at the moment." He had to stop and swallow hard, grimacing and ducking his head against a pain sharp in his side. He forced his head back up, though, having to concentrate in order to take a deeper breath. It stung just a much to do that. "MW is  _here—_ she is  _in New York._ So we have to stay in New York too; or at least a majority of us do. You can think about it whichever way you want, but basically our goals are to find Jonathan, or to keep MW from getting  _killed_ ; if we do one, we do the other."

"Why would she still be here?" Jordan asked. "How can you be sure?"

"Because she didn't get her diamond." Cameron had started to open his mouth to say the same exact thing, but Kay beat him to it. He turned to her as she spoke. She continued speaking to Jordan, but she held his gaze when she did. "Cameron didn't steal it for her like she needed— it's with FBI now. If she went to all that trouble in the first place to get it, she's not going to give it up without any kind of fight. And she certainly wouldn't  _leave_  without it. Not without at least trying to get it back."

Cameron nodded. He tore his gaze away from her and looked at the others. And he reached into his jacket pocket, to produce a slim card. Kay's eyes flashed when he did, but she said nothing. "The only way to get something that's in FBI custody is to  _be_ in the FBI.  _But,_  since she's  _not,_ and she doesn't really have a couple years on hand to spend  _getting into_ it…she's smart enough to go for the next best thing: swiping the credentials. She gets this card, she gets the diamond. She might pin us as likely to having one, especially when Kay's here with us, and if she does, and if she knows  _I_ have it especially, she won't waste any time at all before she tries to get it. We can catch her that way."

" _Or_ all of this is for nothing, MW ran off just like Jonathan did, and we're just sitting here wasting time and not finding him," Gunter offered.

Cameron held his head in his hands. He had a splitting headache. "If you wanna drive through New Jersey, all the around Pennsylvania, check out Delaware, and then hop over to Maryland and not even be a  _fraction_  of the way done looking at any place Jonathan  _could_ be, then by all means,  _please_ go ahead. And bring me back a snow globe from every state you come up empty in; we can start a shelf," he added in more of a grumble. "I know it's not the best plan— if I could run out there and find him right this second, I  _would._ But that wouldn't be the smartest thing to do, and it wouldn't get us to him in the long run."

He took in a slow breath, and his next words came out with much more purpose. "We  _can't_ outthink Jonathan. We can't outrun him, and we can't outtrick him. I've known him my entire life— I know how impossible that is to do." Cameron paused, thinking, before he shook his head and tapped Kay's security card on the table. "This is the best option we have. It's not the one we  _want,_  but it's the one we have to take. We find Jonathan, or we find MW. We tried to get Jonathan's attention. And I  _know_ I can get hers."

Nobody said anything. Gunter didn't argue this time. Cameron nodded a little bit. "Gunter, Jordan— you can go out and look for him. He might already be here…or he might be coming back. Just don't go too far." They glanced at one another, but didn't object. "Dina, Kay and I will figure out what else to do."

The pair started to separate from the rest of the group. Dina glanced at Cameron again, and he silently pleaded for her not to say what he knew she would. But his prayers went unanswered. "You should be the one to stay here," she murmured. She rushed on when she saw the objection that was already building on his tongue. "You need to  _rest_ , Cameron; you look like you're going to keel over. You're worrying me. It makes sense for Jonathan to come back here first— and you can be here when he does! The instant he sees you, he'll—"

"I can't stay here," Cameron interrupted.

Her eyes narrowed. "Where are you going to go?"

He didn't answer. His jaw just locked back as he stared straight ahead. He was gnashing his teeth against the pain so hard that his head was throbbing even more than it had been before, which he didn't even think was possible. "I'll be fine," he said instead, his tone a little harsher than he intended it to be. He pushed himself away from the table and started to force himself up to his feet. "I already said: once we find Jonathan I'll go back to the hospital, but until then I…until…I need to—" His words cut off into a confused mumble as his head spun the moment he got up. He staggered, trying to reach out with one arm for the table as he felt his knees start to buckle. He still kept trying to talk, but his words were slurring together. "I…needto…ffff—"

Dina rushed out and caught him at the last second. She grabbed onto his arms and pushed him back upright, having to hold him there, because his legs had suddenly lost all of their strength. Kay was running to help as well, and between the two of them they could hold him up. Cameron's vison had fuzzed out into black the entire time; he hadn't heard their startled cries. He  _did_ feel the agony as he was shoved back to stand, though. It stabbed through him and a muffled cry yanked itself out of his mouth. His eyes had started to roll back into his head; he'd started to feel tingly and numb. But everything was leaking back to him slowly, now. He just tried to breathe around everything, but his inhales and exhales were trembling after the spell.

"…need to lay down, Cameron," Dina was insisting, when his hearing came back. A mumble of objection was trying to get out, but she wouldn't have it. " _Cameron,_ you are  _going_ to rest, you aren't going anywhere. We'll take care of everything, darling, you need to sleep." Her voice was hard and angry, only getting more so with his stubbornness. He staggered, trying to get his legs to listen to him so he could step away from the two and straighten up all his own. But he only got out a tiny stumble before his head was spinning and he nearly fell a second time. Again, Kay and Dina were the only reasons he didn't. "Cam…still be…when you wake up—" He couldn't even understand what Dina was saying.

"Don't…stupid, Cameron," Kay was agreeing, but he missed a piece of that one, too.

"'m'fine, I…'st need…t'…" Cameron's lips barely moved. He was just getting dizzier. His vision was just getting darker. Someone said something else, but he didn't know who it was, and he didn't know what they said. His head was dipping forward like he was nodding off, and his legs slowly got even more useless, bending and going limp underneath his weight. He heard them continue to talk, their voices distant and incoherent, like they were at the end of a long tunnel. He felt them start to move, felt himself being carried between them like a ragdoll.

He tried to object again. He tried to fight. He tried to yank himself back, so he could go out and find Jonathan before it was too late.

But before he could do any of that, the last bit of blackness slammed over his vision.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _How is he?" Jonathan breathed, still scared to ask, no matter how many times he had already._

" _He's— he's alright," Jordan returned. Jonathan could hear the beeping of the heart monitor in the background of the other line. Every chirp hurt. "There haven't been any scares, he…he's been the…_ most stable  _he's been, I think. Just sleeping. So that's something!"_ Most  _stable. That wasn't even saying much at all. All week had been absolute hell. Jonathan would wake up with a jerk to a ringing phone and a panicked voice telling him that Cameron was taken away again, that there was_ another  _code blue, that they'd found something else wrong. Today being quiet was wildly out of the ordinary. There was no actual progress made – he was still in just as critical a state – but at least there weren't steps being taken backwards. Which was a breed of progress in itself._

" _It's sad he hasn't woken up yet because he'd be so happy he's getting so much attention," Jordan tried to joke. It ended a little hollowly, and it started off weak in the first place. He sounded exhausted. They all did. Five days, and none of them had left the hospital. When they did, it was only one by one, so that there were always two people with Cameron. They left to take showers, to get food, to get_ Jonathan  _food, to try and fend off the reporters and the paparazzi who were struggling desperately to sink their teeth into what was going on. Sometimes they tried to sit with Jonathan and keep him company, but he always ended up being the one to tell them to leave. He could see their fidgeting, their concern. He felt it himself. He just didn't have the luxury they did of getting up and going back._

_And Jonathan? He'd paced a rut into the floor of this stupid suite. He'd walked around it in every way possible to try and pace out some of his worry. He'd laid in every position on the bed to try and get comfortable enough to sleep, he'd walked every kind of lap around the suite that was possible, he tried watching every channel on the TV. Nothing worked— all he could think of was Cameron, and how he couldn't get to him._

" _He hasn't reacted to any of you?" Jonathan pressed weakly._

_Jordan paused, and for a second, he was stupid enough to hope that he would think of something. But his stomach fell away when he replied. "No, not at all. He's just unconscious. We talk to him. The doctors…say he might be able to hear us, you know? And just not be able to do anything. But nothing ever happens. He's…in pretty bad shape." The statement was awkward just because it was so obvious and so much of an understatement, too. Jonathan closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe right. "The nurse…said his heart was doing much better today. They said it was…they said it was in the normal ranges, for once!"_

_Jonathan took in a slow breath, looking down at his lap. "That's…that's great," he said weakly. The words empty._

_Jordan weakened too. "Jonathan…I'm sorry," he murmured._

_He closed his eyes when he felt them start to burn. By now they ached all the time, he was rubbing them so much. He was surprised he wasn't dehydrated— or maybe he was. His throat felt like someone was shoving an iron down it, and his voice was mangled and choked when it managed to get out. "I just want to be there," he cried. Usually he was worried about the way he looked. Which was weird, when you really thought about it, because he only existed to four people on this entire planet. Why care about your looks so much when only four people were there to judge? At the same time, maybe that's exactly_ why  _he cared so much. But whatever the reason, he did. He was always the cool one, always the level-headed one, always collected and always thinking rationally. Always a step ahead of everyone else, and the one to rely on when you really needed to._

 _Now he was the exact opposite. He was scared, and he was worried, and he was paranoid. And he couldn't stop, no matter how much he wanted to. But he also didn't care. He wasn't thinking about himself. He was so far from his own mind, it wasn't even registering that Jordan was listening to him cry. "I just want to be there," he repeated, his shoulders beginning to shake on held-back sobs. His lips trembled, and he leaned over to hold his head in his free hand as he pulled the phone closer to his ear. Jordan was silent, simply listening. "I just want to be there for him, I want to see him, I_  need _to see him. I need to be there if he—" He couldn't finish the thought, but it was horribly obvious._

 _Jordan continued his silence. He was quiet for ages, which Jonathan spent trying not to make it_ too  _obvious he was beginning to break down. After this silence, though, Jordan's voice sounded a little odder. Brighter. Like how it did whenever he thought of a new way to do a trick, or solved a problem with the lighting onstage. Already, the tone of voice had Jonathan picking his head back up. But at the words that were carried through, his heart practically stopped. "Maybe…you can," Jordan proposed._

Jonathan stared into the mirror. There was no expression on his face as he studied himself— as he moved and looked down at the sink. He'd gone to the bathroom located at the back of a gas station – it wouldn't surprise him if it was the only gas station in the entire town – and locked the door, making sure no one else could get in. That had been an hour ago. Or, at least, almost an hour. Long enough that he knew he had to get out soon, because it was a miracle nobody had even knocked on the door yet, trying to get in. Though, at the same time, he figured there wasn't a high influx of traffic through here anyway.

The sink had been white before – or, as white a gas station bathroom sink could be – but now it was stained a dark black. He turned and yanked out a handful of paper towels, turning the water back on and starting the effort to hopefully scrub it all off. He didn't have very much experience dyeing hair. Putting on disguises, fixing his hair into different styles, things like that— he was well-versed in those. But hair dye was hardly ever used; it was too permeant. Actual dye, and there couldn't be any shows for months, unless Cameron dyed it too, and by then, what was the point?

It was a fairly straightforward thing. But he knew it didn't look nearly as good as if Dina had done it. He'd gotten some smeared on his neck— not a lot, but enough to see if you knew where to look. She'd call it sloppy, and probably yell at him for ruining his hair in the first place. It hurt, to think about. To think about her and wonder what she was doing right now. He tried to brush it away…tried to wipe it aside like he was wiping the dye off the porcelain now. None of it mattered. All that mattered was his hair was at least a different color. That at least he'd managed to get a different outfit – a more casual one, something he didn't usually wear – and ditch his old clothes.

He knew it wasn't a lot. He knew that it wasn't the best disguise he could have…but he also knew that it was better than just a hat tucked low over his head. It was at least a step in the right direction. He found he was taking a lot of those, now. The 'at least's. The bare minimum. At least he was still flying under the radar. At least he was still scraping by. At least the dye was coming off, and the only lingering effects of the rushed procedure would be solely in his hair. At least he would look a little bit different.

At least now, when he looked back up at himself, he didn't feel like Cameron was staring right back at him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _Jonathan followed Dina blindly, because he had no idea where they were going at all. He was no help when it came to directions, but he couldn't help but be impatient at the pace she was setting. They were going so_ slow.  _What floor was the ICU on anyway? Why were they taking the elevator, why couldn't they take the stairs? It would go by so much faster! Currently they were waiting for the elevator to even come. Jonathan was shifting back and forth and stuffing his hands into his pockets only to take them right back out afterwards and then do it all over again. She softened. "You're almost there," she reassured him, sensing the obvious frustration. He looked at her but said nothing. This elevator was the slowest thing ever put on this earth._

 _She paused, pursing her lips. She glanced around fleetingly to check the area, but nobody was paying them any mind for the moment. Which was good, because coming in Dina had practically been hounded by all the people that were outside. It wasn't like she needed to do so, but anxiety was holding quite the place in her heart as of late. So she leaned in closer and checked in a whisper:_ "Remember, _you're—"_

" _An old friend," Jonathan hissed back. She decided to ignore the tone and just appreciate that he'd committed it to memory. "Adam Jones, I took so long because I had to arrange my work and take time off, I had to come here all the way from Oregon,_ I know _." He rolled his eyes and looked away. "This is so stupid," he grumbled, mostly to himself. It had taken all morning for Dina to scrounge up the disguise. But she'd done a very good job. And there were no holds barred. They had dyed Jonathan's hair in the hotel sink, making it jet black. She'd styled it differently and given him jeans and a button-up. She'd set to work with makeup and prosthetics and hours later, he was ready to test it out against the unsuspecting hospital, coming off as someone completely different._

_Lo and behold, they hadn't gotten caught yet._

_The elevator finally came, and Jonathan practically threw himself into it. Dina followed and pressed the number four button. The doors slid closed and they started up. She looked at him a little worriedly and began to broach the subject with a certain kind of hesitation. "It's…not an easy thing," she warned. He perked and turned, looking at her oddly. She shook her head. "Being with him. It's not easy. To see him like this. I just…wanted to let you know. Before you go in." He almost had half a mind to snap at her. After all, what did she know about their relationship? They hadn't been working together very_ long.  _But here she was, acting like she was an expert._

_But something about the way she looked at him rendered him mute. Not to mention she had just spent the entire day trying to make it possible for him to be with Cameron finally. He couldn't yell at her. He couldn't bring himself to. He just swallowed back whatever he was going to say and nodded. She mimicked the gesture, and they both looked back front at the same time, just in time to see the doors open for them again. Dina started out, and once again Jonathan just followed her. The ICU was shaped like a horseshoe around the nurse's station, so that each nurse could always sit and have a view of their patients. A few of them smiled at the pair in welcome as they walked by. He could tell that by now, they were well acquainted with Dina._

_Eventually she stopped at a room and slid open the glass door. Jonathan saw Gunter and Jordan inside first. Jordan was standing at the side of the bed, and when he turned, he shifted enough to show what he'd been blocking before. Immediately, Jonathan's stomach dropped. He staggered for a moment, like he'd forgotten how to move, or function. But after a second, he walked the rest of the way inside. Dina closed the door behind him. Jordan stepped aside, and Jonathan took his place, looking down at the bed in shocked horror._

_Dina hadn't been lying. Just_ looking  _at Cameron turned Jonathan's stomach. Caused horrible fear to wash over him, chilling him to the bone and sucking all the warmth and breath out of his body. His brother was covered in ugly, garish bruises and lacerations. It looked like he'd broken every bone in his entire body. He was connected to way too many monitors, all of which were keeping track of things Jonathan couldn't even decipher. He was intubated— he wasn't even breathing for himself. He couldn't even_ breathe.  _Looking at him, Jonathan was afraid he would actually get sick. He was afraid he would scream, because he felt it bottling up in the back of his throat. He was afraid he would pass out. Thankfully, none of that happened. He just stared dismally, feeling like his entire world was crashing down around him._

_Because it practically was._

It was cold. It was  _really_ cold. Jonathan hadn't had a coat with him when he and Kay had gone to the auction, and up through everything afterwards, he hadn't even really registered the temperature  _too_ much. But now his teeth were chattering, and he was shivering. He was standing hunched over, like it would help him to conserve warmth he didn't even have anymore. He was loitering, despite the cold, he knew. He was standing across the street, not hesitating, exactly…but not moving, either. Not walking ahead and going inside. He didn't know why.

Or maybe he did.

'Don't do it. You're making it worse. You're making this  _entire_ situation worse. Just  _stop._ '

He couldn't. He couldn't stop now.

'Yes you  _can,_ you can stop, and you can go back  _home._ I don't want you to do this, you  _know_ I wouldn't want you to do this.'

 _He_  didn't want Cameron to be dead. _That_  hadn't mattered…why should this?

His eyes picked their way through the parking lot outside the bar, and the cars that were lined up along the curb. They stopped and lingered on one car in particular. They flashed, as they trained onto the police cruiser, and after a moment he glanced back to the building. He didn't loiter for much longer. He forced himself to move. He walked across the street – save for the bar hardly any of the buildings even had their lights on anymore – and he sidled in. He had heard a little bit of it before he stepped over the threshold, but once he did, it hit full-force. All the talking and laughing and music that was being played.

It was a fairly decent-sized bar for such a small town. It had all the staples you'd equate with a stereotypical bar setting. The neon signs on the wall, the wood-paneled walls. There was a pool table in the back that already had itself a crowd, and everyone else was just scattered around, talking to people in that same overly-personal way that the cashiers had been speaking to the customers at the store earlier. Like everyone was a close friend. It was an alienating kind of feeling, being alone in the middle of something like this. The realization of this caused a certain kind of hollowness to gouge into his chest. Making it hard to breathe.

He stayed on the outskirts of it for a few moments, getting his bearings. It took him a moment to leave the irrational emotion and actually focus enough to remember why he was there. He turned and started to pick through the crowd. It didn't take long to find him— the only one here wearing a uniform. The police officer was talking to the bartender, laughing over something he was saying. He wasn't drinking anything. Yet. Maybe he was just off his shift, maybe he was taking a break, maybe he was staying here for the time being— Jonathan didn't know, but the thing was he didn't really care. It wasn't important.

'Turn  _around._ Go  _back._ Don't be an  _idiot.'_

He looked through the crowd again, his eyes narrowing more in thought. He pieced through every person, still tucked away in the entryway. He was _good_  at reading people. You had to be, as a magician. You had to know how to read your crowd. More specifically, you had to know how to pick out the weakest person in one. You had to know who the right participant was to yell "Come on down!" to. You couldn't pick a skeptic— if they were eyeing you oddly, if they weren't smiling from ear-to-ear, you had to know to stay away from that one, because they would only attempt to slow the show down. You had to find the one that was perfect for what you needed. You needed to know which person was best: which person was grinning, was fighting to see better, was loudly gasping at every trick you did.  _That_ was the person you needed. That you wanted to pick out. You had to be able to do that.

Or, in Jonathan's case…

There. Over near the other corner of the bar. A group of guys that, out of everyone gathered here, had obviously been here the longest. They were talking the loudest, being the bawdiest. A number of empty bottles were on the table that they were sitting at. They'd probably had enough to drink but they hadn't been cut off just yet. He started making his way towards them. He glanced again quickly in the police officer's direction; he was still caught up in whatever conversation he was in. And when he turned back, he saw one of the men start to get up from the table. He proceeded to walk even faster, not missing this window.

The man stood and started to head for the bathroom. But as Jonathan walked past, he sidestepped just a little bit to the side, putting force behind his shoulder as it ended up ramming hard into the stranger's. So hard it nearly knocked him off-balance, but, at the same time, that wasn't saying much, considering he was pretty wasted. And sure enough, Jonathan felt a grim tug of satisfaction when the man whirled around to glare at him. "Watch where you're  _going!"_ he snapped. And he might have left the situation there, had Jonathan not stopped and turned around.

"Maybe  _you_  should watch where  _you're_ going," he retorted. There was no fire in his voice. It was empty, and dull, just like the expression on his face. And it didn't change when he got the reaction he wanted: the flare of anger. The others at the table were already looking at him with confusion and hostility. Jonathan just looked his target up and down, clearly unimpressed by all accounts. "Think you can manage that?" he grumbled.

The man's scowl twisted even more. "I don't know who the  _fuck_ you think you are," he spat. Jonathan didn't even blink. "But  _you_ bumped into  _me."_ It was  _his_ turn to look Jonathan up and down. His frown just grew more severe. "I've never even  _seen_ you before."

"Well, if you learned to look past your own ego I'm sure you'd realize there's a  _lot_ of things you haven't noticed," Jonathan drawled. By now they were drawing attention to themselves. The man took a step closer, and Jonathan didn't react at all. He kept his hands down in his pockets, just kept staring at him like he was immensely bored. The man's friends were starting to stand now, grumbling to each other and glaring. A few of them were snapping at him, but he wasn't in the mood to listen. He just started walking so that he could round back the way he came.

The man wasn't having it, though. He lashed out and grabbed hard to Jonathan's arm, yanking him back. He'd only made it far enough to have them switch places. The bar in their immediate vicinity began to quiet as the confrontation grew more apparent. That silence would spread to permeate the entire building in a few seconds. The man yanked Jonathan closer and scowled. "What the  _fuck_ is your deal!?" he demanded. Jonathan glared at him; the effort was half-hearted, but it seemed to do the trick to piss the other off. He yanked him even closer.

Jonathan twisted his arm to force the other to let go, despite the strong grip. And he lashed out, shoving him away. This was the final straw, and all that was left he needed to do. The second the man was stumbling backwards, he was flying back, leaping all too quickly to retaliation. Jonathan timed it well. He didn't move at first, and the man punched him hard across the face. He stumbled with the blow and had to blink through the dizziness it inflicted, but he jerked up from his hunched-over position and jabbed him hard in the ribs as he straightened up again. The man staggered and tried to throw another punch. This one, Jonathan avoided by stepping back. And he continued to step back, letting the other advance on him, yet keeping their distance the same.

The other landed another punch. Most of his friends were cheering him on, but there seemed to be one wise one of the group. He was rushing out now, grabbing at his friend's arms and trying to tug him back. Jonathan staggered, but he righted himself and punched back. By now the entire bar was watching and yelling, clearing the way and giving them space, if only to avoid getting hit too. The police officer who had been lounging at the bar, now only a couple yards away thanks to Jonathan's backtracking, jerked, his eyes flying wide. "Hey!" he snapped. Neither of them listened, and he started to rush out.  _"Hey! Stop it!"_

Jonathan felt hands latch around his elbows— felt the police officer start to tug him back and away from his adversary. He started counting the seconds. The man punched him again, and this time Jonathan forced his knees to buckle, like he couldn't stand anymore. He started to drop to the floor, the officer forced to yank him up to try and keep him from hurting himself even more. Jonathan fell back into him hard, and they ended up stumbling backwards together as the officer continued to yank— now too hard. They backed up into the bar's edge, the officer still holding only holding onto him arms.

It left his hands free.

They recovered, the man stumbling off the bar and letting go of Jonathan, who staggered away to right himself. The man he'd been fighting was slowly calming down, not trying to fly at him anymore but still glaring furiously in his direction. But he wasn't nearly as furious as the officer was. "What in the  _world_ are you two doing!?" he demanded, his voice scathing. Jonathan kept his head down. He said nothing. The officer swept on. But he was directing most of his attention on the other person.  _"Come_ on, Nathan!" Of course he would know his name. "Are you really going to do all this again!?" Nathan was mute, but his anger did begin to ebb away. "You  _know_ what happened last time, do I have to take you back down to the station all over again!? Put Julie through all that  _mess_  again!?"

Nathan glared at Jonathan for a second more before he turned to the cop. "No," he answered gruffly.

The officer glowered from one person to the other. Jonathan stilled as his gaze drilled into him, now. "You wanna explain what happened here?" he snapped.

His reply was curt and stiff. Muttered so low it was difficult to hear. "It was an accident." He kept his head down.

The officer's eyes narrowed. He studied him harder. "I don't think I've seen you before." He was leaning, trying to get a better look at Jonathan's face. He ducked his head just the tiniest bit lower. The officer just grew more suspicious. "Who are you?"

Jonathan's mind was going a million miles per hour. He was trying to think of too many things at once. He started to try and track down an explanation, tried to get his mouth to open and spit something useful out. But he was struggling for some reason. The silence was just getting longer, and the officer was only getting more put-off with every second he didn't reply, and if he stayed there for too much longer then he would notice— "He's Jack." The voice was soft, but he looked over immediately to see Katie, from the store. She was looking at him with concern. But when the officer turned to her, she just nodded, very firmly. "He's visiting," she explained.

He hesitated, looking from her to Jonathan. After a pause, he said: "I don't appreciate  _visitors_ that come into my town and make trouble." Jonathan kept his eyes on the floor. Under his breath, he muttered a small apology. Silence existed afterwards, in which the man just looked from one person to the other, judging what to do. Eventually his eyes narrowed, and he muttered begrudgingly: "I don't think we need to ruin a perfectly good Friday night any more than it already has been,  _do_ we?" The two shook their heads in sync. The officer nodded, the gesture curt. "Alright. Then I'd  _better_  not see  _either of you_  even  _look_ at each other again, do I make myself  _clear?_  Nathan, this is time I'm letting you off— clean up your act. And  _you."_ Jonathan still was ducked away. "I'd watch my step if I was you— most officers aren't as nice as I am. Consider this your first and last warning. You got me?"

Jonathan nodded.

He stared at him for a heartbeat longer, thoughtful. Before he shook his head and turned to the rest of the bar. "Alright!" he called out. "There's nothing else to see here— go back to your business." He shot the pair a dirty look before he started to turn back to the bartender. Jonathan was already walking, though. He squared his shoulders and left without so much as a glance in Nathan's direction. He made a beeline for the door, knowing his time was limited. He'd left his car down the street; he'd have to run as soon as he was out the door.

"Jack!" He jerked, glancing over his shoulder. Katie was smiling, trying to skirt around the crowd that had gathered around the fight and make her way over to him instead. When his eyes met hers, he saw sympathy there. It took him aback. "Jack, hang on a second!" He hesitated, caught off-guard for some reason, as he stared at her. But when she started getting too close he shook himself out of it. His expression steeled over again, and he turned his back on her, just quickening his pace and shoving himself out the door. As it slammed behind him he heard her yell his 'name' again. He put it out of his mind.

He just turned and took off down the street, making back for where he'd parked his car.

Feeling the weight of the police officer's gun stowed away in his back pocket as he ran.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _The ICU was silent at night. At least in the morning you could hear families visiting, or the odd patient that was actually awake ask for something, or would even yell out a couple of times. You could at least hear staff members talking back and forth. But night was when families cleared out, and the few patients that could actually open their eyes closed them again and fell asleep. In the days he had come to sit beside his brother, nobody had lifted an eyebrow at Jonathan, or even asked who he was in the first place. Maybe they were just preoccupied with other things. Maybe they just didn't care. The success was: he'd flown under the radar. So when night came, the others were warm – or at least_ lukewarm _– to the idea of leaving for a while to go back to the hotel, and letting him stay with Cam alone. There wasn't a danger of questions being asked, and they made him promise to call if anything happened. They were hesitant, and Dina was the most unsure. But the prospect of sleeping for a while in an actual bed was too tempting. Hospital couches and chairs didn't do much for you after the tenth day._

 _Currently, it was rounding off two in the morning. Jonathan was sitting at Cameron's bedside, where he'd been stationed all day. Cameron was, of course, sleeping. That detail never changed. Jonathan sighed, looking at him for a long time before he moved to prop his elbow up on the bed's railing and settle his chin in his hand. "You've been sleeping for more than an entire_ week, _Cameron," he whispered. He'd started out meaning to just talk normally, but somehow it felt wrong to speak above a murmur. He studied Cameron's face for the tiniest of reactions, but there were none to be seen. His eyes flashed, and he tacked on: "You've reached a new level of lazy…and I didn't even think that was_  possible _."_

_He flashed him a smile, as if it he could see such a thing. As if he was worried Cameron wouldn't understand he was kidding. But the smile was quick to fade. It was barely there in the first place. His shoulders loosened, and he sighed. "But I guess…nothing is impossible, huh?" This he tried to laugh off as well. It was just as unsuccessful. Still, Cameron did nothing. Jonathan closed his eyes and ducked his head for a moment, to regather himself. He took in a quick breath and picked himself back up, forcing his eyes back open. When he spoke again, it was with more difficulty._

" _Look…you—" He breathed in fast again. He shook his head. "You need to wake up. Cam," he said bluntly. His eyes began to water when his brother did nothing. He kept talking. "Because...I've been patient with you this entire time…but…now you're getting on my nerves." He tried to smile, but it hurt too much to try. His laugh was fragile, like glass. "I know you like attention…and I know you're just_  basking _in all of this right now…but you're being annoying. You're being obnoxious." There was nothing but sorrow in his eyes now, and his voice was laden with it. It was beginning to break. He felt a tear slide down his cheek and his breathing began to grow the tiniest bit punctured._

 _The attempted humor fell away from him. His lips shook as his expression started to crumble. The foundation he'd tried to set up and keep stable wasn't as firm as he'd thought it was. He reached up and wiped at his eyes and gasped. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, trying to be harsh but failing as he just cried instead. His voice was quickly falling to pieces. "What on_ earth _were you thinking— why did you think you could still do the trick? Why didn't you say anything? Why are you_ so  _stupid— you're_ so  _stupid, Cameron! You shouldn't have gone!" He looked at all the tubing, the wiring, the casting, and crumbled even more. "And now you're…now…"_

 _He had to stop and breathe a couple times to keep himself at least part of the way centered. His arm dropped back down to the mattress and he leaned in closer, putting a hand on his brother's. Lightly, in case it was one of the many bones he'd shattered in his collision. He could barely force out his next words. "You can't die, Cameron," he sobbed quietly. He didn't even bother wiping at his cheeks anymore. There wasn't a use, when new tears would just replace the ones he brushed away. "You can't die…'cause we have to die together. We go out together, Cameron, or we don't go out at all._ That's _the deal. That's what you_ said."

 _He searched desperately for even the tiniest hint that his brother could hear him. But there was nothing. It felt like someone was carving into him with a dull knife. "You can't die without me," Jonathan croaked. "And you're_ definitely  _not allowed to die first. And not from something this stupid. You always told me you wanted to go out with bang— are you telling me you're letting_ this  _be how you leave?" He sniffed, his shoulders curling forward like he was in pain. "Don't you_ dare _die on me, Cameron," he hissed, soberer now. His lower lip wavered. He closed his eyes tightly. "I don't know who I am without you."_

 _These words had been spoken before. But unlike before, they weren't bathed in bitterness, or used to prove some kind of point in an argument. They were just earnest. Almost fearful. Because Jonathan really_ didn't.  _He didn't know who he was without Cameron, and he knew that at least in this moment, in this instant, he didn't_ want  _to. The thought of tomorrow coming without him in it was enough to chill Jonathan to the bone. He didn't want it. He'd had Cameron by his side all his life. Cameron knew him better than anyone, like the back of his hand. He was the person he was closest to. If he died, he would lose that. He would lose his best friend. Yeah, he might be given the opportunity to drop this whole charade and be his own person, but what was the use of that? When he would lose the person he loved the most? Who loved_ him  _the most?_

 _He'd be lost. This feeling he had with him now – this sorrow – would only get worse. And it would never leave, or ebb in ferocity. It would replace Cameron, and that meant it would never leave him. Because_ Cameron  _was never_ supposed _to leave him. He sniffed and opened his eyes again, actually having to wipe at them this time because they were filled with so much water he couldn't see anything. He swallowed hard and started to lean back in his chair. Started to give up on trying to bargain. When suddenly he stopped short, freezing._

 _Cameron hadn't moved or shifted at all. He wasn't making a noise, either. If Jonathan hadn't been sitting so close to him, he wouldn't have thought he reacted at all. But given the proximity, and how he was practically hunched over him at this point, he_ did  _see it. The tiny,_ tiny  _hint of blue. The tiny sliver that was barely anything at all. It was hardly there, hardly noticeable. But_ Jonathan _noticed. He noticed at once. Cameron's eyes were open just the tiniest bit. They were cracked, not even half-lidded…but he was there. He could see him. And immediately a gasp was catching hard in his throat._

" _Cameron!" Still, it was only a strangled whisper. Cameron's eyes slid closed— shut that tiny millimeter of space that was hardly there as it was. Jonathan gasped again, his heart lodging hard in his throat. The hope that had started to break pathetically hard over his face began to recede immediately back into despair and horror. That he'd had him for one tiny second, and he was being taking away from him all over again. His throat began to burn, his hands curled tight around the siderails of the bed, tears pricked his eyes like dozens of tiny needles. He started to crumble even more than he had already started to._

 _But then, after nearly ten full seconds, Cameron pried them open again, still only that tiny little bit. But tiny as it was, it was putting Jonathan over the moon. "Cameron!" An ecstatic smile was spreading over his face, and relieved laughter was bubbling around every word he said. His eyes burned with even more tears. "Cameron, are you awake? Can you hear me? Are you awake?" Cameron reacted to none of this. Jonathan leaned closer, and he put his hand down on his again. "Cameron, it's_ me _," he hissed almost urgently. "It's Jonathan— I'm here. I'm here, and you're fine. Everything is fine— everything is going to be just fine. I promise, Cam, I_ promise." _Fervently, he was struggling to reassure him. Like he always did, when they were kids. He wished he could hug him. He would wrap him up in the tightest hug he'd ever managed, and he'd refuse to let him go, if only he could. But he had to be satisfied with this._

 _He leaned even closer, daring to put a little more pressure on his hand. "You're going to be okay, Cam," he sniffed. "You're going to be okay, you're going to get out of this. I promise. You're going to get out of this. Even though you don't_ deserve  _to because you were so_ stupid _and you're an_ idiot  _Cameron, and this_ proves  _that_ I'm the smarter twin _, you don't get to argue against me anymore because at the very least, I would never do something as_ stupid _as this. I'm officially taking that card away from you, you can't play it anymore, you_ moron." _He said it all in a rush, practically stumbling over his own words, practically blending them together. He sniffed again and looked at Cameron hard, trying to keep ahold of those eyes and make them stay open, or maybe even open up a little more. To his shock, though Cameron couldn't manage to open his eyes wider, the corner of his mouth_ did  _twitch upwards, in the tiniest, most_  miniscule _way._

_In a way that someone else might not even notice._

_But Jonathan noticed._

_A watery laugh bubbled up from his throat. He ducked his head and shook it, trying and failing to feign disappointment. "You're the_ worst _, Cameron," he sobbed happily. "I hate you_ so  _much, I_ hate  _you, you're the_ worst." _He was smiling so big that his cheeks were aching. The tiny twitch on Cameron's face was gone, and his eyes slid closed again. This time, they stayed that way, even when Jonathan paused and gave him time to try again. The brief burst of consciousness was gone as soon as it had come in the first place. But Jonathan wasn't disappointed. He only felt overwhelming relief— relief so strong he was practically shaking._

_The smile stayed put on his face. He kept talking, even though he knew Cameron was out again. "You're okay," he reassured softly, his words dropping back down into a whisper. He kept his hand where it was, and where it would stay for the rest of the night. Instead of finding hurt in the beeping of the heart monitor, he was trying to find comfort. Now that he knew his brother was still here. "You're gonna be okay, Cam, don't worry," he reassured. "You're going to be just fine, I'm— I'm going to stay right here, I'm right here with you— you're going to be okay…"_

He was almost to the car. He was already getting his keys out again, already prepared to shove them into the ignition and drive as far away from this town as possible. He had the disguise – it could be better, and he could maybe work with it more – and now he had an actual weapon. The two things he needed most, and he'd gotten them here. In and out, in the most unsuspecting place he could stumble upon. Now all he had to do was get out of range. That was the first step. Once he was far enough, he could think about what to do, he could stop and regroup and—

A noise made him stop. He could see his car— he was close, practically already there. But a sudden ringing caused him to slow and halt. He gasped for air as he did, and once his eyes found the source of the shrill sound, he did a double-take. His forehead creased, and he looked around the entire area, like he was looking for someone to blame. But the street was completely empty, save for him. Katie had gotten the message— she hadn't tried to follow him out. It was just him outside. In the dark. Staring at the public phone he'd passed earlier this morning, which was now ringing with an incoming call.

He hesitated. Looked back to his car, inwardly debating. He knew he should keep running. He knew this was only going to slow him down. Only going to give the officer time to realize his gun was missing from his holster. He knew he should get to the car. But he didn't. It took a second for him to move, and when he did, it was to veer for the phone, instead. It was on its fifth ring by the time he got to it, and it was halfway through its sixth when he picked up and put it to his ear. He said nothing— he just waited for the other person to speak. And speak they did.

"Hello, Jonathan."

Her voice chilled him to the bone. At first. At first, his eyes just widened; his face just paled. He stared ahead blankly, completely numb from the shock. Just like he'd felt when he'd seen Cameron on the floor of the vault. But, just like then, as soon as it finished smacking him in the face, it was being replaced with anger. Fury. His grip on the receiver tightened, his teeth gnashed together. He saw red. Still, he did nothing. Just choked on his rage. Just saw Cameron in his mind's eye again, laying on the floor completely unresponsive to the efforts of resuscitation.

MW's voice was just as soft as it always was. Just as nonchalant. "I think I like you better with black hair," she said conversationally.

He turned, looking in all directions. Trying to find her. When he spoke, his words were spat through his still-clenched teeth.  _"Where are you?"_

"Do you miss me already?"

He practically screamed at the smug tone in her voice. His own was choked so much it was difficult to understand. "Where the  _fuck_ are you?" he repeated, harder this time.

"Are you regretting not taking my offer?" she mused. "It's still on the table. You can still take it."

He was breathing heavily. Practically gasping. It was nearly five whole seconds before he could compose himself enough to reply. He was holding onto the phone so tight his knuckles were white. "You killed my brother," he snarled.

There was brief silence on the other end. Before: " _I_ didn't kill him. You could have dragged him out of the vault first. You didn't." Tears burned his eyes, and Jonathan gasped, ducking his head and hitting it against the box. He held even tighter to the phone. By now, it was probably close to snapping in half. "But is that  _really_ a bad thing?" He opened his eyes, glowering down at the ground. "Look at you, Jonathan…you're  _free._ And not just from Rockland. Your entire  _life_ has been one long prison sentence…something you couldn't escape, no matter how much you tried. There was _always_  something in your way, always something  _keeping you from that freedom._ But now…it's gone. Now, there's nothing there to hold you back." There was a long pause. Before she pressed: "I know you, Jonathan. I know that deep down, this is what you wanted."

"You don't know me at all," Jonathan hissed. "He wasn't an  _'it'_ he was my  _brother_." His voice broke, with this. She said nothing, and he snapped again: "Where are you?"

"What are you going to do when you find me?" she challenged. "Kill me?"

He said nothing.

"I'm the only one that saw you for what you really were. A prisoner. Cameron's prisoner." His vision blurred even more. "I freed you from your life— I freed you from  _him._ Him and all the others that forced you to pretend you didn't exist. Now he's gone. Now you're free to be your own person…to be what he never allowed you to be. I know you feel it. I know you've  _wanted_ it for so long. That's why I gave it to you." She paused, before she reiterated. "I know you. And now…I'm the  _only_ one that truly knows you." His stomach fell. He didn't collapse, but he staggered, like he might. "And I'm the only one that truly cares about you, Jonathan…"

He said nothing.

The smile was evident in her voice when she asked: "So what  _are_ you going to do when you find me?" He remained mute. "Kill me…or thank me?"

He was speechless. Numb.

"I've only been trying to help you…everything I've done has been for you, Jonathan," she murmured. "From the very first night, after your show…all I've done was done for you. Maybe you just need to remember it." There was a few seconds of silence. Before she offered: "Maybe you just need to go back to that night." He looked up and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, there was a small click on the other line. Then silence…she'd hung up. He knew this and yet he still didn't move. He just looked emptily into the dark with the phone up to his ear. Slowly, his let his arm slacken back down to his side. Dropped the phone so it swung downward. He didn't even look at it. Didn't even start making for his car right away.

All he did, for what felt like forever, was stand there and stare.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _I'm dying."_

" _You're actually not. I think they ruled that out two weeks ago."_

" _No, I'm_ pretty sure _I'm dying."_

" _Okay, I'll play along." Jonathan cleared his throat and asked blandly:_ "Why _are you dying, Cameron?"_

" _Because I'm_ bored!"  _Cameron was glaring ahead, like he'd been doing for the past hour and a half. Jonathan had warned him five times now that he was going to burn a hole through the wall if he wasn't careful. Cameron had disregarded the advice. "Do you know how_ boring  _it is to just_ lay  _here_ all  _day!? I've been laying in this bed for_ ages!  _And they still won't let me get up— this is…like, patient…abuse, what is that called?" He must have shifted too much as he said this because he immediately flinched, blowing out a large huff of air instead of groaning. The pain lingered on his face, though, straining him as he closed his eyes tightly._

" _It's called: 'Not what this is,'" Jonathan returned. He had pulled the recliner up next to Cameron's bed and was currently lounging on it sideways. Dina had taken the other chair, and Gunter was siting in the windowsill. Jordan had gone down to the cafeteria to get food a while ago. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but this_ might  _be the reason people don't_ typically  _fling themselves to the ground from thirty feet up in the air." He turned back to his book pointedly to ignore the furious look he was sure Cameron was shooting him. "You're not_  supposed _to be rewarded, Cam. This is your punishment. Just be glad physical therapy is coming to see you again tomorrow."_

" _That's a whole twenty-four hours from now," he whined. Ever the impatient twin._

" _Well, think of it this way: in two hours, it'll only be twenty-two."_

" _Shut up," Cameron growled. "You're supposed to have sympathy for me."_

" _I'd have more sympathy if you didn't deserve this one hundred percent," he replied casually._

" _Let's focus on the positives, Cameron!" Dina chimed in. Cameron blew out his cheeks, and kept glaring at the wall. "You're out of the ICU, you have a much better view outside your window now, and you're getting stronger every day! Just last week you were hardly able to stay awake for more than a few hours at a time!"_

" _I wanna go back to that," Jonathan announced._

"I _want to go back to the five glorious minutes I was an only child," Cameron grumbled._

 _He closed his book. "Cameron, for the_ last  _time,_ I a _m the older one!"_

" _You are_ not!"

" _Shhhh!" Dina snapped, glaring at the two, and then glancing at the door in case anyone was there. But they kept it closed religiously, and nobody must have been in the middle of their rounds. Her eyes flashed, and she looked at the two reproachfully. "Knock it off! Who knows who could be listening! Use your heads!" she snapped. Cameron snorted, and Jonathan couldn't keep himself from doing the same once he heard him. It only made her angrier. She rolled her eyes. "You're both children. I'm a glorified babysitter." But there was a softness in her eyes when she looked at Cameron and proposed a little gentler: "How's your pain level, darling?"_

" _It_ was  _at a nine, but now it's a ten because I have to look at Jonathan's face," he returned._

" _Okay, I don't have to take this," he snapped. He hopped up from the recliner and threw a pointed look down at his twin. "Because_ I  _can walk out of here," he said lightly._

" _That's low. Even for you," Cameron said. Jonathan smirked, and Cameron moved on quickly. "Bring me back Jell-O."_

" _I think you're half gelatin by this point," Jonathan mused._

" _Then that must be the half of me that doesn't hurt." He gave him a puppy dog look. Which Jonathan rolled his eyes at. "Please?"_

_He smiled, about to say of course he would. When Dina interjected reluctantly. "Jonathan, I…actually…think it might be time for you to go." His face fell when she said this. So did Cameron's. She grimaced at their reactions, but kept going all the same. "Now that Cameron is doing so much better…it might be best for you to just stay at the hotel." She spoke in a whisper, so nobody would hear. Jonathan could barely hear, and he was only a few feet away. "You can't keep avoiding the press forever, and eventually the staff is going to be asking questions, if they haven't started asking each other already." The ICU staff were usually much too busy to stop and try to map out the relationships their patients had. But here on the more general floor, they had time to gossip and talk with their patients. So far, they've been less telling of his fabricated story. They'd just hinted of a relationship of some sort and left it at that. But it was still unnerving. The risk was too ever-present. And it wasn't likely their story would hold up for forever._

_All it took was_ one _curious person with too much time on their hands to realize an Adam Jones didn't live in Portland Oregon and came all the way up here to see Cameron because he was hurt, and they had a history. Or if they did, they wouldn't match Jonathan's disguised description. Not to mention that it was such a hassle to constantly do and re-do the disguise in the exact same way, sneaking him in and out of the hospital in order to start all over again. There were way too many variables, and they were all on thin ice. Anyone could find out if they dug hard enough. Before now, when it was a question as to whether Cameron would recover at all, or recover fully, the risk was more worth it. Now…it was running its course._

_Jonathan wilted and looked at Cameron. He seemed just as disappointed. But Dina was being practical. At some point, she had to, they figured. Somebody did, anyway. Jonathan cleared his throat and nodded once. A little stiffly. His voice took after the same attribute. "Okay…no, you…I guess you have a point. It's…it'd probably…be safer if I just…stay back."_

" _I'm sorry, Jonathan," Dina offered weakly._

_He shook his head again. "No, it's…don't be— it's fine. Really." The words were offset by the stiff tone they were delivered in. But at the very least, he wasn't objecting, like she'd feared. He coughed and looked at Cameron, giving him a softer, a little sadder, smile. His brother looked pained. More so, than before. Jonathan cleared his throat and shook his head. "Get Gunter to get you Jell-O, he hasn't moved all morning," he joked. Gunter made an offended noise, but Jonathan didn't acknowledge it. He just looked at his brother, his eyes flashing with something he was holding back. "I'll call you. Tonight," he offered. "To…see how you're doing."_

_Cameron tried to give him a smile. It was a bit too flimsy to pass. "Okay." He hesitated before he said: "Thank you. For…staying when you did. It was…" He stopped short, and just let the thought die. Jonathan's eyes flashed again; he felt a certain kind of tightness in his chest. The two of them stared at one another, neither of them speaking but both of them seeming to understand, at the same time. That despite the horrible situation, and despite the difficulties that were still ahead because of it…they'd been together. Not as long as they wanted, and nobody else knew, but they'd been together somewhere other than just the house._

_The silence seemed to stretch forever. Before Jonathan cleared his throat again and ducked his head in a little nod. His voice was a little louder and more rigid than normal when he spoke again. "Yeah. Any time." Even though the sentiment wasn't true. Jonathan had liked staying. Being with everyone. Disguised, but in a public place. He'd liked being able to stay with his brother, and not lying awake at night because he was so worried about what was going to happen to him while he was away. But Dina was right. Now that Cameron was okay, and he would stay that way, it was time to go. He'd go around back, and skirt through all the press and the fans that were relentlessly flocking around the hospital. He'd go back to the hotel room and just…wait long enough so he could call. "I'm glad you're okay, Cam."_

_Cameron smiled. A much stronger one than the one he'd offered in the ICU— an actual smile, that was actually conscious. His old smile. The smile Jonathan had seen his entire life. And though there was an ache in his chest as he turned and left the hospital room, closely followed by Dina, forced back into hiding when really all he wanted to do was stay with his brother…that smile helped. Marginally. He kept it in his mind the entire way down, and he found himself still holding onto it when he was back in the hotel room. He reminded himself of it and comforted himself with it. Because it was there. It was there, and it was strong, and it was Cameron._

_It was his brother._

_Despite everything, he'd gotten his brother back. For a frightening, all-too-real moment, he'd thought he wouldn't. He'd thought he'd lost him and just the mere idea of that being that outcome instead was mortifying. Cameron had pulled through. He was back, and he was smiling, and he was annoying everyone within a five-foot radius again. Everything was back to normal. Nothing else mattered. Everything else was trivial. Everything else he could swallow._

_His brother was back. His smile was back._

_That was all that mattered._

He pulled over. He'd tried to keep driving, but he couldn't. Eventually it got to be too much. It kept building and layering and eventually he had to swerve over and slam on the brakes. He had to rip open the door and stumble outside. He skirted to the other side, away from the road, and he leaned against the passenger side door, holding his head in his hands. He dug his fingernails into his skull, he felt his legs shake like he couldn't keep himself up for very much longer. He couldn't breathe through the emotion that was crushing his chest, and he didn't even know what the emotion was. He didn't know whether it was rage that was choking him, or whether it was horrible sadness. He didn't know if he wanted to turn around and punch straight through the car window, or whether he wanted to collapse and scream into the ground.

He didn't do either. What he did do was slowly sink down to sit and pull his knees up to his chest. His eyes were burning; his throat was on fire, and his vision was warping. He cringed and jerked to hit the back of his head against the wheel he was leaning against. He muttered a curse under his breath, glowering ahead with hatred. Thinking of the smug smile he'd heard in MW's voice and barely able to keep himself from screaming because of it. He sucked in a harsh breath, trying to calm down before he could begin to hyperventilate. He started trying to slow his inhales. Tried to stop everything from spinning so he could get a grip.

When he picked his head up, though, his eyes caught on something. He sniffed, his legs falling more to the side. His livid scowl began to trickle away and weaken. The road was bordered by a strip of grass, dead by the cold. And beyond that expanse were just-as-dead trees. Their branches were bare, their bark flimsy. The kind of forest that, in the summer, would probably look thick and intimidating. Now, it barely even looked like a forest, from where Jonathan was sitting. But he wasn't really looking at the trees themselves.

He sat still for a long moment, not moving a muscle. But then, slowly, like it hurt to move, he pushed himself up and started for the tree line. His footsteps seemed too loud against the leaves. He didn't walk all that far. A handful of yards. He still kept the car in sight, in case he needed it. He couldn't go too far, because he needed the light from his headlights to see in the dark. But he made for one of the bigger trees, his stare growing heavier and heavier the closer he got.

When he reached the base of it, he sat back down. Heavily, with a muffled thud. He stared down at the stick that had caught his eye; his heart was doubling and tripling in weight. It felt hard to breathe. It was fairly big…it must have snapped off from somewhere. Maybe from a storm. He stared at it but didn't make any sort of move towards it. He just stared. It was just now occurring to him how many days he'd been running. But more importantly, how many days it had been since Cameron had died.

When was the funeral? Was there  _going_ to be a funeral? Had it already happened? Had he missed it? He was so caught up in everything, he hadn't even realized, but now it was finally occurring to him: he might have missed Cameron's funeral. He might have missed his own brother's funeral. Someone he'd been with his whole life, someone he was  _born_ with, and he might have missed the moment they put him in the ground. He might have missed seeing him one last time, he might have missed the opportunity to give his eulogy. The eulogy he  _wanted_  to give.

He might have missed the chance to stand up in front of everyone that had meant anything to Cameron and tell them that it wasn't fair he was gone now, and that nothing would be the same. He would have told them about all the times they were kids and Cameron had made him smile when he didn't think it was possible. How when they were ten, Cameron had reliably informed him that he was the greatest person in the entire world, and that everyone should feel awful because they didn't get to know him like he did. How when Cameron was thirteen – yes,  _thirteen_ – he had cried for an  _hour_ when he'd found out Santa didn't actually exist. He would have told them that growing up, Cameron hated learning new, claustrophobia-inducing tricks— how he'd always panic and say he couldn't do it and he wanted to quit. How Jonathan would always reassure him through it, and whenever Cameron wrenched himself out of whatever it was, the first thing he'd do was sprint for him and throw his arms around him. How he'd shaken, but had laughed and said it was easy.

He would have told them how kind Cameron was. How he messed up, and he messed up a lot, but he was always doing his best.

He would have told them how he didn't deserve to die. Not this soon.

But he might have missed it. He'd disappointed Cameron already by not being able to save him the way he was supposed to. Now he was disappointing him even more; now he was letting him down by not being there for him when they buried him. It was the least he could do, and he couldn't even do  _that._ His lips were shaking, his expression being twisted back in that horrible mixture of sorrow and anger. He reached out and picked up the stick. He ducked his head, shaking it hard and mindlessly. He remembered Cameron's voice. From so long ago, not his anymore…but...it  _was_ his, because now it was all Jonathan had: recollections. He remembered how excited he'd sounded.

" _When a magician dies, you take their wand and you snap it in half."_

He cringed, his stomach twisting in choking grief as he ducked even lower. His shoulders started to shake, his breaths turned into gasps. He'd ruined  _everything._ He'd killed Cameron— abandoned him when he'd needed him, both by not being able to open the door  _and_ by not being able to force his heart back into beating. He'd run away, likely making everything harder for Dina and them, with the FBI most likely focusing solely on him and not on Cameron. Brushing right past his death, like Jonathan  _knew_ they would anyway, but still. He barely had any kind of a plan, and he could barely get himself to have the tiniest shred of the rationality he usually had. And he was there, instead of there. Not helping arrange anything, not seeing him one last time, not giving him the tombstone he deserved.

" _You break the wand and the family keeps all the pieces. It's supposed to show that the magic is all gone, but the memory of it isn't. Or something like that."_

His grip got harder and harder, until suddenly Jonathan jerked and snapped the stick in half. He opened his eyes and looked down dully at the pieces, now separate in each hand. At the jagged middle. At first, he just stared at it numbly, not even able to feel anything at all. Until his expression got harder— until his jaw set back.  _"Wait, does it…does it_ really  _bother you?"_ His shoulders started to shake more; his vision was blurring again, and his chest was getting hotter. His hands were trembling again. He thought of Cameron's face; of the way he'd stared at him, confused.  _"It's not like it's going to_ happen _anytime soon, I was just pointing out that—"_

He screwed his eyes shut and acted without any thought at all. He just saw red once more as he moved and did it again. He yanked apart the pieces and he  _kept_ yanking them apart, snapping the stick into halves over and over again. Into smaller pieces, and snapping  _those_ pieces into even smaller ones. Hating himself, and hating MW, and hating Cameron. Thinking about how he'd grinned and declared:  _"Well,_ I  _like it."_ Yanking apart the stupid stick that wasn't even a stupid wand like the stupid tradition that Cameron had wanted— the one Jonathan had hated immediately, had tried to reject because the thought of having a funeral was mortifying to him even  _then_  when it wasn't even happening, but now here they were and Cameron was dead and he was here and he wasn't  _there_ to say goodbye and he was never going to be able to make that up to him, just like he wasn't able to change the fact he'd killed him, he'd  _killed_ his brother, he'd  _murdered_ him and—

His thoughts – erratic now and wild beyond his control – were sliced in half the second his palm was. He yanked too hard, too close to his skin. He hissed, his eyes flying wide as he dropped everything. All the pieces clattered to the ground; he jerked it closer to his chest, his fingers curling at the sharp pain that burned through his hand. He looked down, gritting his teeth at the sight of the gash he'd accidentally made. From his index finger almost all the way to his thumb; blood was already welling up from the cut and smearing over his skin.

He grimaced against the sting, cringing and pressing down on the injury with his other hand. It wasn't that huge a cut. It probably wouldn't bleed  _that_ long, or that much. But he was furious anyway. He still seethed, still growled in the back of his throat and slammed himself back into the tree. He scowled at the pieces of the stick he'd broken up, even more tears welling up in his eyes. He lashed out and kicked them all away. He wiped at his eyes roughly with his shoulder, but there wasn't any use.

Tears still dripped down his cheeks; his breathing still punctured and gasped. He looked up at his car he'd left on the side of the road, and the stretch of lonely forest between him and it. The fragments of the stick he'd broken apart scattered in front of him and useless, considering they weren't even what Cameron had wanted. And that was the  _point._  Sitting there, Jonathan started to cry because this wasn't what Cameron wanted.  _None_ of this was what Cameron wanted. And none of this was what  _he_ wanted, either. It was all a mess. It was a huge  _fucking_ mess.

He ducked his head and held his hand, leaning so that he could cry into his knees. Not bothering to choke back his sobs because he was the only one here. The only one that would be able to hear the broken wailing that keened out of his throat.

That suffocating feeling was back. The horrible gut-wrenching feeling he couldn't even identify. He didn't know what it was, but he  _did_ know that he was drowning in it. He didn't know whether to scream, or cry. He didn't know whether to run back to the car and slam on the gas, or just give up entirely. He didn't know whether he wanted to find MW or whether he wanted to run back home— do what Cameron would have wanted him to do, and hug the team and apologize. He didn't know whether he wanted to finish this in the way he'd first intended, or rush back home and grieve the way he wanted to now.

Nothing was right— everything was wrong. Nothing made sense. Not anymore.

He just didn't know…

He didn't know whether he wanted to kill, or whether he wanted to die.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter of Irreversible!! I hope you are excited for the ending of this, because I have quite a bit planned.  
> I am horribly horribly sick at the moment and it's about three in the morning so please be nice to me I'm sensitive <3 
> 
> I hope there are still people reading this story, lol! The fandom is getting quieter; it seems as though every chapter I upload the crowd thins a little more c': So thank you to those who are still reading and still leaving such lovely support! You really keep me motivated to continue writing!! I hope you enjoy this chapter! It was getting to long so I split into two. The final resolution will be next chapter <3

_"I don't ask much of you—_ why  _do you disappoint me even with the_ simplest _things? The things that should be_ easy  _for you by this point?" He said nothing; he just stared down at the floor. Apparently, this only made Sebastian angrier._ "Answer me,  _Cameron!" He flinched at the yell, and closed his eyes tight. Still, he stayed completely mute. His hands were clenched in front of him. "You practiced that trick all day yesterday, and when it finally came to actually_ performing,  _you made a fool out of the both of us! Do you_ understand  _how_ embarrassing  _it is when you can't do anything right, Cameron!? Do you understand how that makes us look!? How that makes_ me  _look!?" He was still quiet, but this time his father was demanding an answer._ "Cameron!"

" _Yes,_ I'm sorry!" _Cameron was crying this immediately, even before the last syllable of his name could really finish. This entire time and his eyes had been glassy with tears, but when he was forced to actually speak, they began to stream down his cheeks. He reached up and tried to scrub them away. Tried to make up for everything, like he always did. "I'm sorry, it was a stupid mistake, I got confused, I thought— I got the steps wrong, but there were so many— I was just trying to—"_

 _He cringed hard when Sebastian cut him off. "Do you realize our turn-outs have gotten smaller and smaller!?" he snapped. Cameron's lips trembled harder. "Less and less people are showing up to our shows, and it's because of_ you,  _Cameron!" The little boy flinched immediately at the blame. "It's because you can't do the simplest of tricks! I could do that trick when I was_ six _— you're almost_ ten,  _and you can't even do it! I thought you were smarter than this! I trusted you to actually be able to_ do  _this!"_

" _He_ can!"  _Jonathan yelled, breaking out of his silence. Sebastian whirled around to him, absolutely furious. He'd shouted at him to be quiet earlier, but the warning had worn off, the longer and fiercer he yelled. Now, Jonathan was sideling closer to Cameron, angling himself in the subtlest of ways so his left shoulder was just a little in front of Cameron's right. The tiniest of defenses, but one that he was going to give all the same. "He_ can _do this, you're just not being fair!" he objected. "You didn't teach him that trick! He had to learn it all by himself, and when he wanted to show it to you yesterday you said you didn't have time! None of this is Cameron's fault!"_

" _Cameron's the star— if less people come to the shows, it's because of_ him.  _It's because he's not good enough! It's because he's disappointing, it's because he_ can't even do a trick made for a toddler!"  _Again, Cameron was cringing when he yelled. He was still wiping his eyes, and Sebastian scowled even more. "Stop_ crying,  _you're too old for that!" Cameron yanked his arms down, screwing his eyes shut even tighter. Locking his jaw back to try and keep his lips from trembling. Jonathan's glare was filling more and more with loathing. "Maybe I made the wrong choice. Maybe you're not meant to be the star— maybe_ Jonathan  _is supposed to be. Maybe he would disappoint me less."_

" _I can be better! I promise!" Cameron burst._

" _I'm not supposed to have to_ hold your hand  _with every trick, Cameron," Sebastian spat. "A_ true  _magician can figure their way out of tricks all by themselves— you're not a true magician! You have no idea what you're doing, you get confused too easily, you don't have the drive to do anything you're supposed to! You cry like you're still five!" Jonathan was shaking his head, willing his brother to turn and just look at him, and realize that everything their dad was saying was completely stupid and the farthest from the truth you could get. But Cameron was staring off to the other side, shame and disappointment clouding everything else. "You're a disappointment, and a failure, and when we don't have enough money for food, it will be because you can't draw a crowd like you're supposed to! Because you can't do your_ only  _job!"_

" _I_ am  _a true magician!" Cameron's voice was shaking like a leaf, but he was struggling to stop crying. Jonathan's own chest was far too tight; he could feel Cameron's panic and rejection like it was his own. "I_ am!  _I'm not a failure, I'm not a disappointment, I can make you proud! I can! I promise! I_ promise!"  _He sniffed, and immediately cringed. He hurriedly wiped at his eyes again and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. Sebastian was scowling when his son finally looked back up at him, tearful and contrite. "I'm sorry I messed up, I won't let it happen again— I just wanna be a good magician. I just wanna be like you!"_

_Jonathan felt a distinct burn of disgust when he turned and glared up at their Dad. Expectant._

_But he wasn't the tiniest bit sympathetic. "How do you expect to do that when you can't follow the simplest orders!?" Jonathan moved and went to hold Cameron's arm. Cameron was still crying. The tiny hope he'd fostered before, at the thought of his father possibly being swayed by him was shattered. "You just_ stared  _at me on stage, today, Cameron! You just_ stared!  _You didn't even_ try  _to figure out what was going on, you didn't even_ try  _to work your way around it like you're_ supposed to  _when you get confused— how many times have I told you you can't just_ stare  _at me and wait for me to help you like it's a rehearsal!? That you can't just stare at me like you're an idiot!?"_

" _He's not an idiot!" Jonathan yelled at once, before Cameron could even react. He was furious as he scowled up at their dad, gritting his teeth together and holding onto his brother tighter._ "You're  _the idiot!" he kept going, far too furious to stop himself at this point. Cameron didn't deserve to be yelled at— and not like this, either. He was going to put his foot down, for him. Cameron wasn't as good as he was, at that. So he'd do it, to make sure he was okay. "Cameron is ten times as smart as you, you just don't teach him right and you don't make any of it fair! Maybe nobody is showing up to the shows because they know how mean you are!"_

_Sebastian scowled, looking between the two of them with overt rage and disappointment._

_Jonathan didn't care. He started to tug on Cameron's arm. "C'mon, Cam, we don't need this," he started to growl. "Let's—_ hey!"

 _Sebastian had suddenly lashed out and grabbed onto Cameron's other arm— the one Jonathan wasn't holding to. And before Jonathan had the chance to fight, he was yanking him out of his grip. Cameron cried out when he did, flinching at the tug that was much harder than it needed to be. Jonathan stumbled, caught off-guard. Sebastian started yanking Cameron away, practically snarling into his ear: "You want to be a_ magician? _You want to show me you can figure your way out of situations? You want to show me how_ smart  _you can be?" Cameron was running to keep up. Jonathan rushed forward and tried to grab his brother again. But Sebastian was shoving Cameron in front of him, and steering him by the back of the neck— they were separated. "Fine._ Show _me then," he snarled._

 _The moment he said this, he was releasing Cameron with just the smallest additional shove. Rough enough to tip him off-balance, but not rough enough for anything more. Cameron was wringing his hands together after he recovered from the stumble; it was what he always did when he didn't have his cards to fidget with. Jonathan skirted around their dad, and, before he could snap at him not to, he was throwing his arms protectively around his brother. He watched with a hard scowl as their father started away. Cameron glanced at him, and at the anxiety on his face, Jonathan squeezed him a little tighter. "It's fine," he hissed, hopefully too low for their dad to hear. "You're_ fine, _Cam, this isn't your fault."_

" _I shouldn't have—"_

" _You're_ fine,"  _Jonathan whispered immediately. "You're perfect, Cam, you're always trying your best, he has no reason to yell at you,_ all  _you do is—"_

_He cut himself off as their father started to come back. The young boy's face fell uncertainly as he straightened a little, eyeing what was in his hands with a frown that was more confused than anything else. But as Sebastian approached, that confusion bridged more into suspicion and defensiveness. He held his brother even tighter. His voice was barbed when he asked: "What is that?" Sebastian didn't even spare him a glance, though. He grabbed Cameron's shoulder again and tried to pull him out of Jonathan's arms. Jonathan retaliated by hanging to him even harder, stumbling as he tried to dig his heels into the ground. "Stop!" he snapped. Sebastian kept ignoring him, Cameron yanked between the two of them like he was a rope in a game of Tug-of-War. "Stop, what are you going to do!? Leave him alone!"_

" _Let_ go,  _Jonathan!" Juggling what he was holding, their father reached out and literally pried the two of them apart. He shoved Jonathan back. He tripped and fell, hitting the ground with a tiny squeak. He was already pushing himself up, but it was too late; Sebastian had Cameron by the arm again, and he'd already moved so he was between the two twins. So he was looming over Cameron and glowering at him with that same impatience he always seemed to have. Jonathan's stomach dropped when he saw the look on his brother's face. How upset he was, and how ashamed he was over absolutely nothing— but the fact that made Jonathan's skin crawl the most was how_ frightened  _he looked. It made rage burn to life under his skin the second he recognized it. Kids shouldn't be scared of their dads!_

" _You want to prove to me how smart you are?" Sebastian repeated in that mocking growl. Cameron did nothing, staring at the floor between his feet as he kept crying silently. Trying not to, but crying anyway. But this wasn't what he wanted, apparently._ "Cameron!"  _He flinched with a tiny yelp at how loud his name was yelled. Always, always, he needed this shove of a prompt before he could force himself to respond. "I said_ do you want to prove to me how smart you are?  _Yes, or no!?"_

" _Yes!" he blurted out. Jonathan was scowling, looking between the two of them and being tugged in different directions. Feeling blinding anger when he looked at their dad, to feeling scared regret when he looked at Cam. Cameron wasn't even looking at him, though. It was like he couldn't. "Yes, I want to show you how smart I am," he mumbled, his voice thick. He reached up and wiped his nose with a tiny sniff. "I'm really sorry and I wanna make up for my mistake." Jonathan's hands were clenched into tight fists. He glared at their dad, waiting for him to just realize that Cameron was already way too upset when you compared it to what had happened. He'd already paid for what he'd done. Now was when Sebastian was supposed to accept his apology and hug him and apologize._

_That was what he was waiting for, but it wasn't what happened at all._

_Sebastian didn't hug Cameron, or tell him that everything was okay, and they'd just keep working on tricks and make sure to get it right, this time, before they performed. When he_ did  _do, was grab Cameron's shoulder and spin him around so his back was to him. He brought the straitjacket around so he could pull it into place on Cameron, pausing only long enough to hand him a pin to hold. Cameron did nothing at all; he didn't fight or ask what was happening. But Jonathan wasn't as compliant. "Hey!" he yelled, trying to dart forward again, grabbing at his dad's arm as he yanked the straps to a suffocating tightness, and trying to get him off. "_ Hey, stop,  _what are you doing!?"_

_Sebastian flung him off. He kept his hold on Cameron, but turned to round on his other son, who was stumbling back. He scowled, a silent threat to stop, but that glower didn't work on Jonathan the way it worked on Cam. He threw the glare right back, with just as much anger, if not even more. "You can't put that on him!" he yelled. Cameron looked at him now, and the strained expression on his face encouraged him to keep going. "Neither of us have done one of those before! You said that we weren't going to have to learn those for a while! And that when we did, you'd explain it— you can't put that on him!"_

" _Jonathan." He was practically snarling. "If you get in the way_ one more time, so help me…"

 _Jonathan scowled. He was stiff, barely holding back his anger. His eyes flickered to Cameron. His brother still looked scared. But he shot him a look, and at the look, Jonathan was immediately faltering. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. They hardly ever had to, really, if they didn't want to. Just like Jonathan could tell when Cameron was upset about something even if they weren't in the same room— it was a 'twin thing.' So he could tell what Cameron was telling him, now. He was practically begging him to stop. 'If you just stop, this will end faster,' he was telling him. '_ Please  _stop. Just stop before something else happens.'_

_He tried to fight him for a second, as his face fell. 'You don't deserve this, you—'_

_Cameron shook his head just a fraction of an inch._

_Jonathan blinked. Looked back at their dad. His eyes flashed. But he choked back all the words he wanted to scream. Just ducked his head and glared at the floorboards, like the blame could be landed on them. He just listened with festering bitterness as Sebastian turned back to Cam and kept yanking the jacket as tight as it would go. "You said you're_ smart _," he snapped. Cameron was silent, taking everything. The mocking, sharp tone, the jacket, and whatever else he was doing. Grimacing against the pressure now hugging him, but nothing more. "You said you're a_ true magician.  _That's not something you can_ play around with,  _this isn't a_ game,  _Cameron— you just think this is all one big game, you don't_ understand,  _and you refuse to understand. You_ keep  _goofing off, not really working, laughing off your mistakes when you make them_ over and over and over  _again and_ keep  _disappointing me, no matter what I do._

" _I do_ everything  _for you. I teach you tricks, I give you this chance to perform and actually_ be  _something, I take you to places other kids your age couldn't even_ dream  _of going! I hold your hand with_ everything,  _and I'm_ sick  _of it. True magicians work hard for everything they do— they don't need someone to_ dote  _on them. To tell them that they're okay, to explain the trick to them step-by-step_ seven times _because they can't be bothered to listen. And real magicians don't_ stand there and stare when they can't figure something out."  _He turned Cameron back around, after ensuring that he was thoroughly bound. He glared at him; Cameron could barely bring himself to meet the stare. "You have to prove that you're an actual magician. You have to prove that you're worth my time."_

_Cameron said nothing. His lower lip trembled._

" _Are you going to show me?" he pressed, overkill by this point._

_When Cameron blinked, more tears dripped down his face. He nodded few short, sharp times._

_Sebastian nodded once, in return. His next instructions were shot and clipped. "Lay down." No further explanation was given, and Cameron apparently knew there wouldn't be one in general. Obediently, he sat down, and shifted awkwardly to lay back on the floor. Jonathan kept watching in tense silence, that scowl still lingering on his face. But when Sebastian knelt down beside Cameron and reached for the other things he brought over with him, he stiffened. And when he started to wrap the chains around Cameron's ankles, he couldn't keep silent._

" _Dad, what are you doing?" he demanded, taking a step closer to them. Sebastian ignored him, making sure the chains were as tight as the straitjacket was. The uncomfortable grimace was just getting worse on Cameron's face. Jonathan kept doing the talking for him. "Dad, this isn't fair! He said he was sorry, why do you never just take his apology!?" Nothing. He wilted. Fell silent as he just crossed his arms and hugged himself. Eventually, he locked it into place and tugged a couple times, ensuring it wasn't going anywhere. From there, he stood back up._

 _Sebastian was_ still  _glaring at him as he stepped back to survey his son. Or maybe to survey his_ work.  _"Well. If you're so smart, then show me," he snapped. Jonathan's brother stayed mute and stiff. Scared. He said nothing. Their dad's voice grew even sharper when he pressed:_ "Don't  _just stare at me, Cameron!" Immediately, he was ducking down with a tiny wince, flinching into himself. "I want you prove that you can think your way out of a situation." Jonathan's stomach dropped when his father growled: "I want you to escape. To get out of that straitjacket, and free your legs. Just those two things. It's_ simple."  _Cameron looked down at himself, beginning to breathe a little faster. Jonathan was shaking his head fast already. His mouth was opening, but he couldn't get anything out. Not yet._

" _Is that going to be an issue, Cameron?" Sebastian asked scathingly. "_ Answer  _me."_

" _No," he whispered._

" _No_ what?"

" _No, it won't be an issue." Just as quiet._

" _Dad, this isn't_  fair _— he doesn't know what he's doing, he's gonna get_ hurt, _he—!"_

" _If Cameron is smart like I know he can be, he'll figure his way out," Sebastian growled. Jonathan watched as his father turned and manipulated the rest of the chain. In a way he'd never seen before, because they hadn't_ done  _this before. How he slung it up into place and began to yank down on it. Cameron was small; it didn't take much effort or time at all for him to be hoisted up into the air. Hanging upside down from the ceiling, restrained too tightly to do anything but wiggle and thrash awkwardly. Jonathan's breath caught in his throat as he looked up at his brother, going more and more rigid with every passing second._

 _Sebastian simply watched with narrowed eyes and building expectation as Cameron started to struggle. He shifted and twisted and flinched, getting absolutely nowhere. Jonathan was trying to look at it as best he could, to maybe see something about it Cameron couldn't that would help. But he couldn't get a good look from here, and he wasn't sure he would even be_ able _to figure it out, either, if the roles were switched, and_ he  _was up there instead of Cam. They hadn't built up to here at all. This was out of the blue. It was too soon._

 _And it was dangerous. Cam's face was already getting red. As he thrashed and tugged, Jonathan could already see him blinking faster, looking blearier. "Dad…" It was like Jonathan wasn't even there, for all Sebastian reacted. His voice spiked with desperation as Cameron cringed, trying to get out one arm with a barely-withheld cry. "Dad! Get him down! He can't stay up like that!" Sebastian's eyes just narrowed further. His jaw just locked back harder. Jonathan's hands went up to his head, his nails digging down into his skull. "Dad!" The flinch was permeant on Cameron's face, but he was getting more disoriented. It had only been about a minute or so, but his face was fully flushed, and his pulling was already getting weaker._ "Dad!"  _Jonathan shouted. "…Dad, get him down!"_

_Cameron was bending up, in the effort to get his arms free. But now he fell back, swinging a bit and just making his disorientation worse. He was going limp; he wasn't as able to move. His eyes found Jonathan's and locked there. Jonathan was staring up at him desperately, angrily, in frustration and about a million different things. Cameron's eyes were half-lidded, and glassier than normal. He weakened, and Jonathan's stomach twisted when his brother's groggy expression broke into something far too close to a plead._

_That tore it, for him._

"Dad! Get him down!"  _he screamed. When Sebastian didn't, Jonathan snapped and started to rush for his twin. His father grabbed his arm at the last second, holding him back. He scowled, and proceeded to immediately start throwing himself forward in the effort to break free._ "Stop, what are you doing!? Let go of me, what are you doing!? You have to get him down!"  _Cameron grimaced, his eyes staying closed. The crease in his forehead began to clear, though, and Jonathan screamed louder when he realized he was starting to lose consciousness._ "Dad, let him down! Dad! …Let him down…!"

They were cardinal rules. Don't mess up. Don't make a mistake. Figure your way out of a situation.

Magicians have to be in control. No preference. No option. That was it. They had to know exactly what was going to happen, whether that be right now in the moment, or three steps ahead of what was currently happening. Everything had to be perfect. It was what was drilled into his head, and Cameron's as well, when they were brought into the 'family business.' Against their will…without a question of whether or not they wanted to be magicians themselves. But it was what they had been told from day one, and it was what they had been snapped and yelled at to master. Control. If a magician didn't have control, if they couldn't think their way out of a situation, then they weren't a magician at all.

'Be a  _true_  magician,' their father would always say. 'Know what you're doing. I don't need to hold your hand.'

It was positively  _drilled_ into their heads. A harsh, never-ending mantra.

Maybe Jonathan should have listened more, though.

Because now he had  _no_ idea what he was doing. Or what was going to happen.

Usually, when it came between the two of them, Jonathan was the twin that was guaranteed to have a plan. He had everything mapped out, each miniscule step, every outcome anticipated for. There had only been a couple of times in his life that he  _hadn't._ Where he  _had_ lost control of everything and could not recover the way they'd been trained to. The first being when Cameron had fallen during the Leap of Death trick. The second being the night of the trick at Time Square, the moment he had put his glass down with a mutter of: "Cameron Black does not have a girlfriend." Those were times he hadn't had a plan. And this was the third. This entire  _mess…_ was the third.

He'd thought he had a plan. He never  _didn't._

But now he was starting to fear maybe he hadn't. Or if he had, then it was certainly gone now.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was going to happen.

He didn't even know what he  _wanted_  anymore.

He  _wanted_ to go home. It was what he'd wanted for a  _year_ , but now the longing was multiplied. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to the archive and feel like everything was normal and the same again. He wanted to sit on the couch or in the kitchen or on his bed and know that it was all going to be okay. He wanted to go home more than anything, but he knew he couldn't. If he went back home, none of that would be waiting for him. Cameron would be gone. All that would be there would be the team, broken apart and ruined by the loss of his brother, and their accusatory looks of blame, which he knew they deserved to give him. Cam's room would be empty. There would be a hole in the archive.

He couldn't go home because without his brother it wouldn't  _be_ a home anymore.

He was almost back to New York…almost back to the city Cameron had always been in love with despite the crime rate and overexpensiveness that Jonathan just saw. He was sitting in some bar. He didn't know the name of it, but all he had to know was that it was a relatively small one. And one that at least had a couple other people there, too. He'd had two drinks so far. He knew he had to leave soon. And he knew that it was a risk just being here in the first place. But he didn't care anymore. About anything.

His stare was empty and desolate as he looked down at the wood grains of the bar. He had no idea what time it was. It occurred to him he could just look up at the clock on the wall, but he couldn't bring his eyes to lift up to. He just knew it was dark out, and the streets had been practically empty, no matter where he was. That there were only a couple other patrons with him at this hour, likely because everyone that  _wasn't_ having some kind of existential breakdown or bender was home asleep. He just knew that he was so tired he felt like he was going to sick; like every time he blinked, he might just pass out altogether. But if he didn't blink more often than usual, his vision would double. Not that the alcohol was helping.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he was too far gone. He had escaped from the FBI's watch, essentially fleeing prison. He had stolen money, and he had stolen cars, and now he had a stolen gun on top of all that. He knew there was no coming back; he had made his bed. But given the end goal he'd always had…he supposed he always knew that this road was a dead-end. He'd known, and he'd still made the commitment. Now, it was just closer. Now, was the time he was just actually going to do it. The knowledge was heavy in his chest.

'This is  _really_ your last chance, Johnny. You have  _one more shot_ to just  _drop_ everything. What's going to happen, even  _if_ you manage it? What  _then?_ Hasn't there been enough death, anyway? What's adding to it going to help?' He grimaced, ducking his head and shaking it. He grabbed for the drink that was in front of him; it didn't have very much left in it. 'You're not a killer, Johnny. We both know that.' He took the last swig of the bitter-tasting drink, trying to mute the voice as much as possible. He needed it to go  _away._ He couldn't  _do…this_ with him in his ear. 'You won't be able to take it back. Once you do this, it's over.'

He didn't care. He didn't care anymore. She'd killed Cam. She'd killed his brother.

'You won't have a chance of getting out anymore. Everything we worked for—'

Was useless anyway, if Cameron was dead.

He didn't care about the repercussions. He was never going to get out anyway. He was going to be dragged back to prison anyway, and without Cameron to vouch for him to the FBI, it was a done deal. At least this way, when he was dragged back behind bars, he would have the knowledge that justice had been evenly handed out. That Cameron's death hadn't been accepted…hadn't been just  _taken._ At least this way, he would be able to comfort himself with the thought that the woman who had caused all this trouble and taken away everything he'd had was dead and gone, and he would be able to remember the feeling of satisfaction he would get the second he pulled the trigger.

Jonathan didn't have a plan on what he was going to do. Or how he was going to do it.

The only thing he had – the last thing he knew for sure, the  _last_  thing before there was just a blank nothingness of what to expect – was a destination. Where to go. Where he knew he was going to go once he ordered one more drink, and would go back to the car to finish the rest of the drive. Where he knew she was going to be waiting for him.

_Maybe you just need to go back to that night._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Consciousness came back to him the same way it had come back to him when he'd woken up in the hospital. In tiny, slow pieces, bit by minuscule bit. It was like he was trying to swim up to the surface from the bottom of the ocean, and there were hundred-pound-weights on his arms and legs. Just like before, too, the first thing he registered was the sheer pain and exhaustion. His head was ringing; it felt like it was two seconds from just splitting apart right down the middle. It felt like something was stabbing hard in between his ribs over and over again, and every tiny breath in made it feel like that knife was twisted. He felt  _sick,_ like he was going to throw up. And any movement at all, no matter  _how_  small it was, made every single one of those sensations get about a million times severer.

Everything leaked back to Cameron like sand trickling to the bottom of an hourglass, stacking and layering on top of one another and pressurizing everything else. He flinched against it all, and his hands curled into shaking fists, as if by digging his nails into his palms, he would be able to get some of the pain elsewhere. It didn't work. The more he came around, the worse it got, and as he woke up, a strained, choking cry scraped its way out of his throat. It was weak and fragile, and barely noticeable. But the second it wormed its way out, there was a voice responding to it. "Cameron?"

He cringed again, but sucked in a sharper breath. He pried his eyes open, finding that wherever he was, it was dark. This was a relief to him, at least. His head was already splitting as it was; he knew if there was a light on anywhere at all in this room, the pain would be tenfold. His breathing was shallow, but against the pain it was harsh and hitching. He choked and hiccupped as he started to try and get his bearings. Once he managed to get his eyes all the way open, he was turning his head towards where the voice had come from. This tiny shift just choked him all the more, but he ignored it. Over the years, he'd developed quite the pain tolerance. Which just paid homage to how much he was in right this second…usually he was brilliant when it came to grinning and bearing the pain. With all this…not so much.

Kay was sitting beside him, awfully close. Once he finally turned and their eyes locked, she somehow weakened with a mixture of relief and horrible concern. Still gasping, Cameron shifted and tried to look down at himself. He realized he was in his bed. The familiar touch of the mattress was at least a comforting one. But it was barely registerable against everything else that had slammed onto him upon waking. "Cameron, are you okay?" He looked back at Kay. She was looking over him with clear worry. "Cameron, you should go back to the hospital," she pressed, ignoring the way he was immediately shaking his head, which just made everything worse. "I can drive you there if you don't want to take an ambulance, but this is ridiculous— you're in so much pain, and something could be  _wrong,_ you—"

"Where…'s…'veryone else?" he panted, ignoring her completely.

Kay was frustrated. Her eyes narrowed at him in something akin to a glare. There was a long pause, where she might have just rejected the inquiry. But after the beat, she was speaking. "Gunter and Jordan are still out," she murmured. "Dina went to look through the city, I stayed here to make sure you were okay. They've been texting me with updates. They haven't seen anything yet, but…I think they're going to stay out for a few more hours, if they can." Cameron started to try and get enough wind in him to ask how long he had been out. The simple feat was much harder than it appeared to be. Thankfully, she seemed to grasp what he was wanting to say, because she answered it herself. "You've been out for hours. It's almost one in the morning."

He jerked in shock. It had barely been noon when he'd passed out! "That's…not…"

"We were going to take you back to the hospital whether you liked it or not if you weren't awake by morning," she said. "But Cameron, you  _need_ to go back." Again, she was ignoring his head shaking, which was unfortunate because it hurt so much to do in the first place. The least she could do was  _acknowledge_ it. "You can barely  _move;_ it's not like you can do anything to help when you're like this. Refusing to go back is just going to make you worse. And what if something happens?  _How_  is Jonathan supposed to see that you're okay if you obviously  _aren't?"_

"M'fine," he gasped, and Kay's glare only worsened. Cameron's eyes were watering, and he grimaced hard, trying to get in an actual breath that would make his lungs burn less. He was shoving it all down as much as he could. "I can't go back." It was easier to talk in a rush, exhaling everything out at one time. It blurred his words together a bit, but it was still the best option. "Have to stay here, 'nd…" Kay watched with a heavy frown as he shifted, reaching down into his pocket. Sure enough, the card was still stashed away, there. He stared for a few moments. He had to recollect his thoughts…remember what in the world had been going on before he'd collapsed.

But eventually it came back, and he let his head drop back to the mattress as he screwed his eyes shut again. "I have to go," he gasped, ignoring Kay's instant attempt at arguing by talking over her. "I  _know_  where she is," he wheezed. His head was  _pounding._ His stomach was in knots, and only tying off into more. "I know how to get her, I know what to do, I jus'…have t'…" He made a move as if to get up. Not  _even_ to get up— to just turn on his side so that he could angle himself more off the bed. But even that was locking him into a spasm of agony. Another cry choked itself off in the back of his throat. He ducked his head down close to his chest, flinching hard. His ears were ringing so much he almost didn't hear Kay when she started speaking again.

"Cameron, you aren't going  _anywhere._ You can barely even  _sit up,_ you—"

" _Kay!"_ Maybe it was the fact he was in so much pain, but the yell came out harsher and more grating than he really intended it to. It did the trick; she was breaking off at once, a little taken aback by the sudden volume he managed to reach. Cameron was shaking, but he forced himself to start pushing himself up. She made a move as if to try and help him, but he shrugged her off. His stare was hard as he looked at her, forcing down more air into his lungs so he could keep talking, however weakly. "I have to find my brother." Each word came out hard, and separated. Kay tried to keep her expression apathetic, but he could see her deflate with the press. "I have to find my brother… _now,"_ he growled.

She hesitated for a moment, but eventually tried: "We're doing all we can,  _you_ can go back to the hospital and—"

" _Kay."_ Again, she cut herself short. Cameron was wavering a little back and forth, unsteady just as it was. But his words were anything but. "I have…to find Jonathan. He needs to  _see_ me." She kept quiet, but watched in very clear pain as he struggled to finish sitting up. When he did, his breathing was even frailer, and he felt even sicker. Again, he was trying his best not to pay any mind to it. " _I_ need to find Jonathan…I need to fix this. And I  _know_ how to do it. I've messed up so much for him, I have to fix this one. I have to…I have to go," he gasped.

"Cameron, you—"

"Help me up," he pleaded, turning and starting to move his legs to swing back over the edge of the bed. It made his pain worse, but he had to do it. He gnashed his teeth together, biting down against it all and just breathing out sharper instead, as if he could hiss out all of the pain rather than sit in it. He choked, ducking his head and reaching out for her more. "Help me up," he repeated, when she didn't say anything. And when she did say something, her voice was harder and bathed with more warning.

"Cameron, I'm  _not_  going to help you, you need to—"

She reached out and started to push him back, but he was immediately grabbing at her arm to try and stop her. His eyes were watering and bright with pain, but he still glared at her. The agony was helping shove him to his breaking point, when that was a place he  _wasn't_  often shoved to. His voice was sharp and growling when he managed to force it out through his throat.  _"Kay."_ Her name was practically spat out, and the acidity as well as the grip on her wrist was effective enough to cut her off. Cameron's eyes were watering, and they were raw with pain. But he still forced himself to take in enough breath to talk, when really, his chest felt too tight to get down anything but a tiny wheeze.

"I. Have. To. Find. My brother.  _Now_ ," he snarled. Kay couldn't hold his gaze; her eyes flickered down to the floor. If it was any other situation, he would have felt bad for coming unhinged so easily and so quickly, but it  _wasn't_ any other situation. And  _this_ situation was falling apart now. It had been falling apart this entire time, and he had been doing his best to try and force the sides to stay together. Or to grab the thread of the sweater and hold it tight enough to prevent the string from unwinding the entire thing, and rendering it useless. He had to  _do something_. He hadn't done anything this entire time. He'd been useless. And now he knew what to do, and he  _couldn't._

Not without help anyway.

"Cameron…" Her voice was weaker, now. He could  _tell_ that it was weaker.

Painful hope started to blossom in the center of his chest. He kept his hold on her arm, but by this point it was only because if he let go of her, he wasn't all too sure that he would be able to stay sitting up by himself. "Kay…" Her name was said just as tiredly. And he  _was_ tired. He was exhausted. But he was determined. She said nothing. She gave him the floor, at least. "I have done so many things wrong…when it comes to my brother," he rasped. Her eyes flashed with pain. But it was nothing compared to the amount of pain that was in Cameron's eyes. "I have done so many things wrong when it comes to my brother," he repeated, more broken this time. "And he hasn't done a  _single thing_ against me.

"He's  _trusted_ me. This  _entire_ time, he's  _trusted_ me. And right now, I'm disappointing him. I need to be out there, and I need to find him, and I  _know_ I can…Kay, if you just  _let me,_ I can finish this whole thing  _tonight."_ He started to pull on Kay, to try and get some kind of leverage in order to stand up. She wasn't pulling away. "I need to fix this, and I need to fix it before anything else can happen. Before he does something he can't undo, which I was fully capable of stopping. You just have to help me.  _Please._ I'm  _begging you,_ Kay."

She stared at him dismally. "Cameron...we can get Dina to go instead to wherever you—"

" _No_ , it has to be me," he practically gagged, ducking his head and cringing as he kept trying to get himself off the bed somehow. "It has to be me, I have to do it." She was shaking her head, but he wasn't listening. "Kay, you  _owe_ me, by now. How many cases have I helped you with?" Her eyes narrowed a little with the question— with the card he was playing. "How many cases have I helped you with  _just_ so you could help me with  _one?_ If Jonathan does anything, it's all going to be for nothing.  _All_ of it. You  _owe_ me, so  _do this for me. Please."_

"Whatever it is,  _Dina_  could do it just as well as you could, we could be walking right into—"

"I'll go to the hospital," he interrupted, and she stopped short. Her eyes flashed. It looked like she wanted to say something else, but nothing was coming out. "If you let me check this  _one spot,_ I will go back to the hospital.  _Right after_. The  _second_ after, I'll go back, and I won't fight at all." Her eyes flickered over him. He was sitting up by now but it was clear how much agony he was in, and how tired he was, just from changing positions. He was pale and shaking and wheezing…he looked horrible. He needed to have never  _left_  the hospital in the first place. So this made her hesitate. "But you have to let me try this, first. Otherwise, I won't go back. You can choose."

She tried to glare at him again. But it was getting difficult to. "Cameron, don't be difficult…"

"One spot," he kept bargaining. "Dina can  _meet us there_ if she wants, even, if you don't want to go just us. But we go to  _one spot._ Even if I'm wrong…I'll go back right after. I won't fight."

She was silent. She stared at him with a mixture of pain, sympathy, and irritation. It wasn't at all clear which one was the most prominent emotion. It wasn't clear which way she was going to lean. And the longer the silence stretched, the more desperate Cameron grew.

"C'mon, Kay," he wheezed. "I  _know_  I can fix this…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Let him down, Dad! Dad, he can't stay like that!"  _Jonathan was hysterical. He didn't know how long it had been, but he knew it had been too long. Cameron had been struggling to do anything— to get his arms looser, to wiggle out of the binding, to get his shoulder out of the jacket, basically to get anywhere at all. But he'd gotten nowhere. He was still stuck. And now he was starting to weaken and go slack. He'd been fighting unconsciousness for the past three minutes, slowing down then speeding back up again, but he couldn't keep going for much longer. And the fact terrified Jonathan. Still being held back by his father, he kept trying to yank to Cameron anyway, slapping at Sebastian's hand, trying to get him off._ "Dad! He can't do it, you know that, why are you making him stay up there!?"

 _Sebastian was cold and unflinching. Cameron was moving less and less. His feeble twists only grew even more so. Jonathan was gasping, whirling around and looking at every inch of the area around them. His eyes landed on something, and he stiffened, his eyes going wide. Maybe it was the anger that was festering under his skin. Maybe it was the fact that he was so worried about his brother. But whatever it was that gave him the extra strength he needed, he was grateful. He was thankful that when he turned back to their dad and kicked backward as hard as he could, he caught his ankle with enough force to make a little pain lance up his_ own  _leg. He was grateful his father jerked, surprised enough by the blow and disarmed by its pain, that his grip loosened. And he was grateful he could yank his arm back to himself and immediately break into a sprint._

_He moved fast, struggling to act before he could be stopped, if that was even a risk. He didn't look over his shoulder to check. He just ran for the thing his eyes had found before. He grabbed the chair and raced for Cam, just praying that it would be tall enough to let him reach him. "I'll fix it, Cam!" he was promising, but by the time he was putting the chair underneath the spot his brother was hanging, Cameron's eyes were closing. Jonathan's heart stopped when he saw his brother go limp entirely, finally passing out, admittedly long after Jonathan had thought he would in the first place._

_But still, the second he was dropping, Jonathan was panicking._ "Cameron!"  _Cameron didn't react at all. He was gone, and Jonathan stumbled a little in his rush to stand on top of the chair. His thoughts were everywhere at once; it was difficult to really pin one singular one down. So everything was kind of rushing out at once as he reeled. "Cameron, I'll— you're okay, Cameron, you're okay!" His hands were shaking, but he crouched down a little, grabbing Cameron by the shoulders before he pushed himself back up to stand. He strained with the effort, but he was just trying to get Cam's head_ anywhere else  _other than right under his feet. To get him even a little bit more level._

 _He wasn't tall enough to do that good a job. When he stood upright, balancing Cameron from underneath his shoulders, he was still at an angle. Jonathan grimaced, trying to get more on his toes. But he couldn't do all that much; getting on his toes made him wobble, and if he dropped Cameron, he'd make it even worse. Doing this, he couldn't see his brother's face— he couldn't tell if it was working. He grimaced, staggering and tipping back and forth to try and keep center. "Cameron!?" He didn't get a response. Jonathan flinched hard, ducking his head. He breathed even faster, his eyes burned even more. He'd never felt this scared. Their dad forced Cameron into a lot of traps he didn't want to go into, but it was never like_ this.  _And still, he was just_ standing  _there._

" _Cameron!" Jonathan begged, and this time his voice was much more choked. He was trying not to break down. But he was already failing, and he hadn't even really gotten to try_ not to _in the first place. "Cameron, wake up! You're okay now, I got you!" Why wasn't this_ fixing  _it!? He got him back up, wasn't that the problem!? "Cameron!?" He wasn't getting anything. He looked over at Sebastian, who was still just staring at the two, still somehow holding onto that irritated look, like_ they _were the ones doing something_ wrong.

"Help _!" Jonathan yelled, anger and desperation mingling in the same cry. Sebastian didn't respond. It just made Jonathan angrier— it made his tears well up and stream down his face, finally. He didn't know whether he was crying because he was so angry at their dad, or so worried for Cameron. Whether or not it was maybe some mixture of the two._ "Help him!" _he all but screamed. He stumbled, almost falling off the chair but catching himself (and Cam) at the last second. His brother was still just laying on top of him, not exactly horizontal, but the most horizontal that Jonathan could get him to be._

"Dad!"  _Jonathan screeched. He was_ still  _ignored, he held onto Cameron tighter, like the increased pressure pressing into his shoulder blades would somehow wake him up, even though he already had plenty of pressure to focus on from the straitjacket and the chains around his ankles. "Dad, get him down! Help him! What are you doing just_ standing  _there!?" When nothing happened – when they all stayed stuck like this – Jonathan's crying grew harder, grew louder, harsher and more frantic._ "Dad! Get him down! He's hurt, Dad; you're hurting him! He doesn't deserve this, he's sorry, he said he was sorry, just let him down…!"

Jonathan expected something to happen when he pulled to a stop. He shut off the engine and sat there for what felt like ages, grim and expectant. But there was nothing. It was empty. New York was known as the city that never sleeps, but it was certainly sleeping now. The roads were bare. The lights that gleamed back at him seemed lonely and useless. Brightening up streets that nobody was walking. It looked as lonely as he felt. Or at least, the closest it could get. He'd thought she would be standing there like a statue in the middle of the road. He guessed it was too optimistic a hope.

Minutes dragged by. Though his gaze was just the tiniest bit bleary from the alcohol, it was suspicious and angry, as well. When still, nothing happened, he was tempted just to turn and go somewhere else. Maybe he hadn't been right about what she'd meant. But at the same time, if she wasn't here, he had no idea where else he was going to go. This was the last stop. So he shut off the engine, getting out of the car and shutting its door behind him. The noise echoed. It made him remember a similar kind of slamming noise, that had taken place here too. Just seeing this place again was turning his stomach.

The last time he'd been here, was the crash. It was the spot he'd fallen out of the car and stumbled into the road, horrified at the body that was now on the ground. It was where he'd been wracked with panic and horrible guilt, until the moment he'd brushed her hair aside and realized that her eyes were a different color— that she wasn't the same person that had been sitting beside him a moment before the accident. It was the place he'd ran from. It was the place everything went wrong. That was the start of everything.

Now, here he was. At the very end of it all.

Jonathan didn't see her. He walked a few yards away from his car before he came to a stop, just standing there. His shoulders hunched as disappointment began to press down hard on them. His expression clouded, and his teeth gritted together. The silence was too oppressive; it was too disappointing, it was too  _much,_ he didn't know what he was going to do if she wasn't here. If she was somewhere else, he had to leave again he couldn't stay here, he— "Hello, Jonathan."

He whirled around the second he heard her voice, as dull and soft as it always was. Sure enough, MW was standing only a yard or so behind him. She was smiling. One would think the moment Jonathan turned, it would fade, or at least falter. He was disheveled and exhausted, with horrible shadows under his eyes. His hair, now black, was a mess. His expression was strained and panicked and mournful. But her smile only grew. He said nothing, so she decided to do the honors for him. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He was still fuming too much to speak. The pure rage and loathing he felt took his breath away.

"You really don't have  _anything_ to say to me?" she mused, feigning disappointment. Jonathan's nails were digging hard into his palms. He was breathing fast and heavy. "After everything we've been through, certainly you have  _something."_ His eye twitched. She noticed. She took a few steps closer. Jonathan scowled at once, but it didn't deter her. "You've gotten yourself in quite a bit of a mess," she pointed out. "Stolen money…cars…the FBI is looking for you. Though, you and I both know that doesn't amount to very much…it's still not the  _best_ position to be in. Especially for  _you…"_ She paused, waiting for him to actually speak. He still refused. "What are you planning on doing, Jonathan?" she hummed.

The instant she stared to take another step, Jonathan reacted. He reached back and yanked the gun out of his pocket. In less than a moment, he was aiming it at her, just like she had held it threateningly for his neck in the vault. She stopped, but didn't seem surprised at all. His glower grew even severer. He was still too enraged to speak. He grew even more so when her smile didn't even leave. She just clicked her tongue, looking almost sympathetic. "Oh, Jonathan…you're smarter than that." He wrapped his finger around the trigger. Held the weapon in both hands, instead of just one. "I  _know_ you're smarter than that," she pressed. "You always  _were_  the smarter twin." She said this almost like it was meant to be a joke. It was appalling enough to him to finally give him the ability to speak.

"Looks like you don't know me as well as you  _thought_ ," he snarled.

She looked from the gun, to him. Her lips were still quirked into a smirk. "I'm not so sure," she hummed. "For instance…I know you won't shoot me." He scowled. "For someone who's been looking for revenge up to now, you're hesitating an  _awfully_ long time. Why not just shoot me on sight? I'm  _here._ I'm not fighting back." She waited for a moment. He wasn't budging. She answered her own question. "It's because you don't  _want_ to. Not  _really."_

" _I want to shoot you more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life,"_ he snarled in a rush.

"Then do it," she invited simply. In the heavy silence that followed, neither of them moved. "See?" she prompted. "You couldn't kill anyone, Johnny. Despite what everyone else might believe."

"What  _you_  made them believe," he growled.

She didn't argue. She just moved on. "I can help you. I can help you out of this mess— out of the city, somewhere safer. I can help you get a whole new life. It's easy— I've done it for myself plenty of times." When he didn't immediately agree, she kept going. "I can give you an entirely new life, Jonathan. You can rebuild yourself, and I promise no one will be the wiser. You can move on from here. I know that's what you've always wanted."

"You don't know me at all," he snapped.

" _Don't_  I? You've never wanted a life that existed outside of magic? You've never wanted a purpose that was more than just the Stand-In? The Double? Because you know that's all you have, here; that's all you've  _ever_  had, here." He kept the gun level for her. His eyes were burning by now. His vision was blurring even more than it already had been. "You've always wanted to be more, because you  _are_ much more than that. But nobody here ever  _let_ you be. Including Cameron."

" _Don't you_ dare _say his name!"_ he spat immediately. This, caused her to jerk back in the faintest sign of surprise, just as the sheer volume and rage. Jonathan took a step closer, tightening his hold on the gun. "Don't you  _dare_ say his name!" he repeated in a growl. "You killed him." The words came out with difficulty. He hadn't had enough to drink to have his words slur, but you could hear the underlying fuzziness, far below. He'd only had enough to try and rid himself of that inhibition. Hopefully he had managed that. "I don't care about anything else. I don't care what you can  _do,_ I don't give a  _shit_ about what you  _think_ you know!  _You killed my brother!"_  His brother, who was always the one thing he was allowed have.

Now he had nothing.

"I helped you," she corrected. "I helped you, just like I've been—"

" _Bullshit!"_ he screamed, and she pressed her lips tightly together. His vision was definitely blurring, by now. He took in a sharp breath, that was more like a gasp. "Bullshit! You've never cared about me, you've only cared about yourself! About your stupid plan! I don't want to 'join you.' I don't want anything to do with you! I've  _never_ wanted  _anything_ to do with you— you took away a year of my life! You let me  _rot_  in that prison until  _you_  were ready to put everything into motion so don't you  _dare…_ even try to  _pretend_ that  _any_ of this was for me! It was all for you! You framed me, you kidnapped Cameron, and then you  _killed him!"_ His voice broke on these last two words.

She had only stared at him throughout this entire thing. Her expression was as unreadable as ever. And still, despite the words and their scathing tone, her voice came just as apathetically. "And what are you going to do after you shoot me?" she asked. "You're just going to go back to prison…this time with a longer sentence. For something you  _actually_ did. It'll be a mistake, Jonathan. If you kill me. Nobody will thank you for it. And your only means of being proven innocent will be taken away for good." His face started to fall.

"You need me, Jonathan," she pointed out. "You need me to prove your innocence." She hesitated before she offered: "But you need me for everything  _else_ , too. You need someone who understands what it's like to be cast aside, and not cared for. You need someone to tell you that you  _matter_ , because they know what it feels like when anything else seems like the truth. You need someone to help you actually  _live._ He never did that for you." She didn't say his name, this time. As if that would help anything. "But I can. I can  _show you_ all that you can be.  _I_ am what you need, Jonathan. And I need you, too. I need your skill, and your talent…and  _I_  need someone that understands, too."

He swallowed hard. Said nothing.

She took a couple steps closer. He eyed her when she did, and tensed, but he didn't yell at her to keep back. "Don't you see, Jonathan? We  _need_  each other. This entire time, we've needed one other. And think of how we could be. The two of us— all the FBI working together wouldn't be able to stop us. We could have whatever we wanted. I could tell you about fortunes you never even  _existed,_ and we could have all of them and more. It would be so simple. And you could finally have that sense of belonging you've always wanted." His eyes flashed. He took a small step back, still keeping the gun aimed for her head. She kept walking, anyway. "I can give you a better future, Jonathan. One ten times better than the life you've been forced to live up until this point. You just have to trust me."

" _Stop_  it," he growled.

She didn't listen. "Nothing comes for free. But the payment you made will be minimal when you compare it to everything you're going to gain, if you come with me."

"Cam wasn't a  _payment,"_ he spat.

"He  _was,"_ she insisted. "You just don't realize it yet. But you will." She shook her head, looking around and eyeing the city around them with clear contempt. "There's nothing here for you, Jonathan; there never was. I made you an offer, and that offer still stands for you to take. You can come with me. I can give you a life. I can be the one to show you that you're worth  _millions_ more than what all those others made you seem." Silence was heavy between them. That smile she wore was unfaltering. When Jonathan still kept the gun to her head, she smiled and reached out a hand towards him. "Come with me, Jonathan," she urged. He was searching her face now, still scowling but growing weaker with every passing second. "And let me give you what you've always wanted."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Kay caved.

She didn't  _often_ cave, and she had  _barely_ caved, as it was. She didn't want Cameron walking around when he was in the state that he was in…he looked fit to drop at any second. She didn't want him walking around, and she  _especially_  didn't want him walking into a potentially dangerous situation. But she  _did_ want him to go back to the hospital. And so far, this seemed to be the easiest, fastest route to take. And…she would be lying if she said she wasn't as anxious as Cameron was for this entire thing to be laid to rest, too. So she had caved, and she had gotten him into the car. It had been slow going and a very painful process, but the fact it took so long was actually good. It allowed her to add a safeguard to the already-horribly-stupid activity. A phone call she may or may not have made out of the room so that Cameron wasn't any wiser. The best safeguard they could get at the moment.

The entire drive had been quiet. But the silence wasn't all that bothersome; or at least there wasn't a lot of concentration geared towards it. Cameron was too preoccupied, both with handling all his pain and with thinking about whatever it was he had in his head to get this far. And Kay was too busy cursing herself and Cameron and everyone in between in this mess. They weren't really up for having the most  _riveting_ of conversations. It was better that they didn't even try.

Cameron told her where he wanted to go back at the archive, and she realized that, misguided as he was being at the moment, the location couldn't really be argued against. It  _did_  make sense, at the very least. Or at least, it was better than anything else they had been going off of until now. Which was a good thing and a very bad thing at the same time. She had no idea what she was going to do if Cameron's assumption turned out to actually be true. It wasn't like they could leap into action, just the two of them. Her, and him not even able to walk by himself.

Which was why she'd made the phone call. And it was why, when they pulled up to the destination, she didn't get out of the car for a very long time, scanning every inch of the area. Cameron roused at the pause, and looked at her impatiently, but she ignored him, just making sure the coast was absolutely clear. Dina wasn't here yet; she was certain to be just a couple minutes behind them, at the most. They had backup, and it was rushing after them.

So, it was with trepidation and a little bit of tense caution that she got out first. Given the time of night it was, the streets were empty. Still, she was eyeing their surroundings as she rounded the car. For a long moment, she was just standing by herself; she could feel Cameron's irritated look staring out the window at her as she did nothing, just waiting for someone to creep out of the shadows unexpectedly. Even  _when_  she couldn't see anything, she was still reluctant to open the door for him. And she hovered very anxiously when he started out after her.

He practically fell out of the passenger seat, one arm holding to the side of the car and the other wrapping around his stomach. He couldn't straighten all the way initially, and his expression was creased over with agony. He was still wheezing; he couldn't breathe very deeply, with his rib injuries. He was trying to compensate for the lack of depth by breathing faster, but it wasn't doing much for him. It was probably just going to make him dizzier in the long run. Wordlessly, very passive aggressively, Kay moved to help him. Getting out of the car and still seeing nothing just confirmed how useless a venture this was. She was already just counting down the seconds until she could take Cameron to the hospital. Going by his state, she was so concerned that by this point she was entertaining just calling an ambulance from here, rather than driving the whole way herself.

"I called Dina," she murmured as she helped him move, going very slowly, to make sure he didn't need to take large steps at all. All he could do was stumble baby steps. She felt him stiffen even more than he already was; he looked at her sharply, with the tiniest hint of a glare. His displeasure didn't need a detective to be picked up on. She tried not to show how aware she was of the fact, and just kept talking. "She was out asking friends if they'd been contacted by Jonathan, but she left before we did. She shouldn't be very far behind us at all. And when she gets here, that's  _it_ , Cameron; we're going to the hospital. You only have until then.  _Okay_?"

"It's touching to know you have so much faith in me," he grumbled.

"I just want to get you back to the hospital before something happens that  _forces_ you to go. I don't want you being hurt anymore. The more damage we can avoid, the better." His expression flickered, but he didn't say anything. He fell silent again, and Kay followed suit. They kept walking, very slowly. And, for Cameron, very painfully. He grimaced and hissed on every other step, and whimpered on all the rest. Kay tried her best to help by taking more weight from him. She was fully aware that this was a lost cause, even  _if_ she still kept an eye out for anyone. But she  _also_  knew that Cameron wouldn't give up until he saw for himself and made sure.

Ages later it felt like, they reached the wall, and there was no dice. They were the only people there. They stopped and sat in this discovery for a moment. Kay wasn't surprised…but she could feel Cameron's disappointment like a knife. It was a good effort, but they had still come up short. The thought had made sense…call out MW by going back to the alley where Cameron had been taken by her in the first place. Surely if she knew their next move, and by all means up until this point she  _had,_ then she could have foreseen this and would be waiting. For Cameron. For the card. For either. But no. There was nothing.

He tried to stay in denial. He looked around, like he was trying to figure out where she was hiding. Kay let him for a couple of minutes…let him mumble to himself and think and come to terms with the fact that his idea, though valid, was now falling flat. But eventually she had to speak. "I'm sorry, Cameron." And she was. Guiltily, most of her was thankful this was the wrong move. After all, if it came down to a fight, Cameron was in no state at all to be even  _near_ it. But his sorrow was palpable, and she shared it, too. It had been a good idea, to try and see if MW was lingering here for them. Or if she was baited out by their presence. Or even if  _Jonathan_  was here, as a means of being were Cameron had been, if he was still under the impression he was dead.

The idea had been  _good_. It was just  _wrong_.

"But…" Cameron's face was falling like a hundred pound weight. He was sagging a little more; Kay could tell, grimacing as she was forced to hold up more of him to compensate. "But…it made  _sense,_ it…it was where she was going to  _be_ …" He took in a quick breath, which his ribs didn't thank him for. "She was supposed to be here, and we could have…gotten her, we…you could have…called in, and…" They weren't 'on' the case of MW anymore, according to Deakins. So they couldn't have people ready. Their backup consisted of  _Dina_. This was the most they could do.

It wasn't much. And there was mutual understanding, in that moment. Cameron had been so sure of himself before, at the table when he'd elaborated their plan of action. He'd laid it all out like a map— a simple way to get from point A to point B. But they didn't have any people. They didn't have many resources other than themselves. Cameron had gone to the FBI in the first place  _because_ he needed those resources…the extra help to figure out what was going on and solve it. They were back to square one, this way. Maybe a  _smidge_  above where they'd been, since they had Kay still. But, nevertheless. In the silence that brought this up, it was a difficult thought not to realize. The discomfort on Cameron's face spoke enough volumes. Of course, Kay was the person to actually  _voice_ it.

"Cameron…" He grimaced away from the tone of her voice. Already, it was softer than normal. He hated it. How sympathetic she sounded, when she usually didn't sound anything close to the sort. "Cameron…you  _have_ to realize this won't work. You being out here. You have to realize it's too much for you." He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. She felt bad, but she kept pressing. "I  _know_ that Jonathan is important to you, Cameron. I know that you would do  _anything_ for him. But you  _can't…_ do this. You  _can't."_ He opened his eyes again and glared at the ground. His eyes were a little shinier than normal.

"You  _tried_ , Cameron. But what would have happened if she was actually here?" she asked. "What would you have done? You can't even walk." He scowled even more. She knew it was just because she was right, though, and he knew it. "You can do things from your hospital room, Cameron. You can…you can tweet with fans, you can make posts about the show. Dina could probably even set you up with a…with some kind of phone interview with a news channel or something. Right?" Cameron still said nothing. He just kept staring away from her. "I know you don't want to. But Cameron…it'll be so much easier for usto sort this all out if you do."

His scowl deepened. Kay's eyes flickered up towards the street; she realized that there was a bright set of lights flashing into their field of view. Sure enough, a car pulled up behind her own and she saw Dina hop out and make her way towards them. "Cameron, just because you go back to the hospital doesn't mean you're giving up on this entire thing. It doesn't take away everything you've  _already_ done. You've been trying to help Jonathan from the  _very_ beginning." Cameron blinked at this. His forehead creased and his eyes flashed. "It's not like you  _care_  any less. You're just  _hurt."_

He looked at her. The expression on his face was odd.

But Dina was calling out and catching both of their attentions before either of them could say anything. "Cameron!" She sounded furious, which was what she deserved to be. "Cameron Black, you  _listen to me!"_ He grimaced, turning to her with a much less enthusiastic look. It just got her angrier. "Don't you  _dare_ look at me like that, you stupid, idiotic _, numb-skulled_ — don't think I'm not cross with you, either!" Kay had apparently looked a bit too satisfied at the chewing out, because Dina redirected her anger to her for a brief second. But when Cameron started to crack a smile, she didn't know  _who_ to yell at more. "What were you thinking, bringing him out here like this!?"

"I made sure there was nobody here before I got out," she replied. Cameron pulled a face. "And you were on your way. I wouldn't have let him come out if I thought there was any—"

"You couldn't be sure of that!" she snapped. But quickly took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly and regathering her nerves as best she could. "Nevermind. What's done is done." She sighed and looked at Cameron, deflating. "Darling, you look awful." Cameron rolled his eyes; she wasn't about to be swayed. "Come on— we've allowed you to act as stupidly as you've wanted for as long as we can. Now is where we draw the line. You've  _got_  to go back to the hospital. Kay said that was the deal, now you've got to hold up your end of it."

Cameron looked away. He was fuming. But after a couple of long seconds, he grumbled out a disgruntled: "Fine."

For all Dina reacted, she could have won the lottery. She beamed. Though she remembered herself afterwards, realizing that she had to at least  _try_  and hide her eagerness, with the cloud that was hanging over him. "Good," she murmured. "… _Good_ …Cameron. Good." She looked to Kay, who seemed just as unsure. "We'll find Jonathan. Or MW. I promise." He soured more. She grimaced, ducking her head for a moment. Before she straightened and started to try: "Kay can take you back to the hospital, and I can call Gunter and Jordan to try and see if—"

"I want  _you_  to take me." The interruption was flat. Kay did a small double-take, looking unexpectedly sad when she looked at him. He wasn't looking at her, though. He was just looking at Dina. She blinked a couple times, surprised. He was shifting away from Kay, who was reluctantly stepping to the side. " _You_  take me back to the hospital," he defined, and Dina shook herself out of it, stepping forward to help him. Kay was reluctantly crossing her arms.

"Oh…" She held onto him by his arms, helping to steady him and hold him up. She glanced at Kay, who looked down at the ground. "Alright," she relented. Cameron grimaced, taking in a sharper breath as he was jostled. "Then…Kay, you can…talk to Jordan and Gunter?" Kay nodded a couple of times. Dina mimicked it. "I can…take Cameron to the hospital, and…call you once we're settled again." The plan was said very awkwardly. Kay was silent, but compliant. Cameron glanced at her and pressed his lips tighter together when he saw the look on her face. But he quickly turned his back to her.

"I'll…wait for your call, then," Kay offered, after a second. Dina nodded. Looking between the other two for a moment more, she turned and left. Dina started to follow, but with Cameron, they had to walk much slower. Kay was already driving away by the time they were halfway out of the alleyway.

Cameron was shaking from the exertion it was taking just to put one foot in front of the other. Still, gasping unsteadily between his shuffles, he grumbled: "I thought she would be here. I thought… _something…_ would be here. I was…positive…" Dina wilted, but apparently she didn't know what to say. Silence just met the frustration, and it stayed there.

They walked to the car in silence. Dina helped him as much as possible; by the time she eased him into the passenger seat he was sapped of energy. He sank back with a cringe and a shaking exhale. His head was pounding and it felt like the entire world was spinning. He felt like he was fit to throw up, and as Dina rounded the car and to take the wheel, he just tried to concentrate on  _not._ She got in on the other side. Cameron's eyes flickered to her, to watch her put the key into the ignition. But she hesitated at the last second. She looked to him instead, injured and guilty. "Cameron, I…we'll sort this out. I promise. But you just  _have_ to go to the hospital, darling. We're not giving you any more options."

His eyes flashed. He turned and looked back front, through the windshield. He just shook his head a fraction, which was enough, considering how much it hurt all on its own. He said absolutely nothing. Dina waited for a heartbeat, just in case he would. But the subtle anger and disappointment and fruitlessness and sorrow and sickness on his face said enough. She figured there was nothing she could really say. She turned the key in the ignition and snapped the car into life. Cameron grimaced as he reached into his pocket. She put the car into drive and started to map out the quickest way to the hospital.

When Cameron's voice stopped her. "I…" She turned, looking over at him to see that an expression of something close to panic crawling over his face. He came up empty with one pocket, and flinched as he forced himself to try the other. Apparently he was still falling short. She watched as his alarm only mounted. His eyes stretched wide; they were going glassier by the second. He was getting tense. He turned and looked at her. The expression he wore seemed similar to if he had been punched in the face clear without warning. Before she could ask what was wrong, he was blurting it out: "The card!" Her heart dropped. Her eyes went just as wide as his. "The card— I don't know where the card is!" he croaked.

"Did she take it with her?" Dina demanded, looking after the direction Kay had driven.

But Cameron was shaking his head. "No! I- I  _had_ it, I had it a second ago, and now I don't!"

"Maybe…maybe you left it in her car?"

"I had it when I got out!" he objected. He turned and looked out the window. His hands went up to his head as he tried to keep himself calm. "I think…I must have dropped it out there, somewhere!" Every word shook, like he was struggling not to break down and cry. At this point, he was two seconds from it. Dina looked from him to the alleyway, blank with confusion and her own underlying panic. That card was all they had for leverage…they  _needed_ it. "I must have dropped it out there!" Cameron repeated in a small cry. He started to fumble for the door. "I have to find it, I—"

"No, Cameron— no! Stop!" He did, throwing himself back from the door in frustration, and just suffering in the agony it caused. He closed his eyes tightly, disappointed and overwhelmed. He pressed his hands up to his eyes, and Dina shook her head. "I'll go check, Cameron," she offered. He just cringed again, dropping his arms and ducking down. His frustration went absolutely nowhere. "I'll go and see, you wait here. You aren't moving again unless it's to walk into the emergency room."

His shoulders drooped. His voice was heavy when he mumbled a miserable: "I'm sorry."

The sheer moroseness got her to soften. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting smile. "Don't be, darling. It's fine. Everything will be fine." She could see how much this was getting to him. Cameron often stomped down his emotions for the sake of others; he tried not to let his own hardships show too much. So the fact he was breaking now, spoke volumes, and the only thing she wanted to do was fix it. She couldn't fix Jonathan— she wouldn't fail the same way for Cameron. "I'll be right back, I'm sure it's out there somewhere."

Cameron smiled weakly as she turned and got back out of the car. She shut the door behind her to keep in whatever warmth the car was still hanging onto, before she went back into the alley. She pulled out her phone and started to scan the ground. Cameron watched anxiously as she started into the backstreet, carefully looking over every inch it had to offer. She was going slow, only a couple paces at a time. It was a fair couple of yards until you hit the dead end wall. It took a while for her to get about halfway through. Still coming up with nothing.

He watched her go, until she hit that halfway point.

Once she did, he whirled around, biting down  _hard_ in preparation for what was to come. And sure enough, the very second he was forcing himself to clamber over the middle console of the car and into the driver's seat, every inch of his body was screaming in pure agony. His vision fuzzed out and he half-fell behind the wheel. He couldn't hold back a heavy sob against all of the pain, though he tried his best to manage it. Maybe the cry was what caused Dina to whirl around and see him. But whatever it was that had clued her in, she was already sprinting back for the car, screaming at the top of her lungs.

" _Cameron!"_ He shoved himself up, crying out again before he slammed his hand down on the button that proceeded to lock all the doors. He did so the very instant he made it back to the door she'd just left out of a second ago. She was left to yank uselessly on it, struggling to get in. It was impossible to tell whether she was the more of: angry, or panicked. She kept screaming as Cameron fumbled to sit, gasping and choking on the pain it took just to crawl over to the other side of the car.  _"Cameron,_ stop!  _Cameron, open the car, do_ not  _do this!"_

He ignored her, swaying a little and waiting for his vision to clear. It took a couple of seconds, but it eventually did. He looked down and threw the car into drive, ignoring her. Realizing this, Dina threw herself out in front of him, blocking his way.  _"Cameron what do you think you're going to do!?"_ she yelled. His forehead creased with the effort it was taking for him to keep up with everything. The pain made it all a little muddled. He looked down and shifted the car into reverse instead. She just grew more desperate.  _"Cameron, what are you doing!?"_ she screeched.

He shook his head again. He grumbled out a reply she wouldn't hear.

"'m gonna find Jonathan," he breathed a little weakly.

And immediately, he shoved his foot onto the gas, backing up from Dina and breaking a ways away very harshly. He gritted his teeth and ignored the nausea from the tiny jolt. He shoved the car back into drive and accelerated just as harshly, swerving right around Dina and rushing down the street with no regard to the speed limit.

Ignoring Dina's screams for him to come back, and just focusing on where he had to go.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Maybe it was his yelling that got through to Cameron. Maybe Jonathan had just held him up enough for all the blood to go back to where it was actually supposed to be. But he was going stiff immediately when he felt Cameron move again. Heard him give out a tiny, disoriented whine. And the very second it registered, he was gasping. He wasn't sure how long he had been standing underneath his brother— he wasn't sure how long this entire ordeal had been going on in the first place. But his arms were so tired from holding him up, that by now, they were trembling and burning. He'd been staggering and weakening more and more, but the instant his twin was stirring, Jonathan's exhaustion went out the window. His voice cracked when he exclaimed: "Cam!?"_

_All that came back to him was another little whine. Barely audible, but Jonathan could hear it loud and clear. "Cam! You're okay, Cam! I—" He grimaced, having to stop and get himself to stop wobbling again. His legs were burning, too. It was hard to stay balanced on top of a chair in the first place; you add the fact he was going up on his toes, and it wasn't an easy task in the slightest. He refused to stop, though. Especially now. "I got you, Cam, you're okay! You're okay, don't…don't worry!"_

" _J…Joh…" Cameron couldn't even get his full name out._

 _Jonathan's glare was filled back up with rage when he whirled back to glower at his father. "Get him down! You made him do it long enough, let him down!_ Now!"  _Sebastian only looked between the two of them. "Dad!" Jonathan screamed. Cameron was waking up more and more. "Come on! Let him down! Aren't you afraid something might happen to him!?" He turned, craning his neck to try and look at Cameron somehow as he fumbled, reaching up and trying to somehow tug at the straitjacket and help him. But the effort was pointless; it did absolutely nothing. By now, he could barely hold Cameron up with both arms— doing it with one was out of the question. He had to go back to just propping him up, or he'd fall. Not even thinking about it, he just resorted back to comforting him. "You're okay, Cam, I've got you," he promised, flinching as he fought against his own muscles, which were begging for him to stop. "I won't let anything happen."_

_Sebastian broke in. Unbelievably unaffected by the situation. "Can you not do it, Cameron?" he asked. Very controlled, very dull._

_Very disappointed._

Still _disappointed._

 _Cameron was breathing heavily, like he'd just finished running a marathon. Jonathan's heart twisted and lodged hard in his throat when he heard his brother's reluctant response. How sad he sounded— how upset. He'd just woken up, but Jonathan could hear the tears in his voice. "I…" He couldn't find the words, apparently. His inhale came in sharper. His words came out weaker. "I…'m_ trying,  _I…"_

" _Cameron._ Can you do it? _Or_ not?"  _Sebastian snarled._

_Jonathan was gritting his teeth so hard that his head was splitting with pain. He was glaring at his father with a look that was fit to kill, but Sebastian was once again making it seem like he didn't exist. He was just waiting for Cameron's response. And when it came, his expression still stayed just as blank. But from the very first syllable that came out of Cameron's mouth, Jonathan was cringing, and his heart was breaking into pieces. "I can't!" The confession was hitched and ruined with held-in sobs. "I can't do it, I can't get out! I don't know how!"_

_Sebastian stayed apathetic. "Are you giving up?"_

_Jonathan was choking on his brother's disappointment and guilt. It was coming off him in waves; he had no idea how their dad didn't see it like he did. Cam hesitated, and Jonathan was beginning to fear that he'd refuse and try to stick it out and be stubborn. But to his relief – reluctant relief, but relief all the same – Cameron cried out the better response. "Yes," he croaked. Jonathan closed his eyes at the amount of emotion in his voice. How defeated he sounded, when he shouldn't have even been in this situation in the first place. "Yes, I give up. I can't do it."_

_Sebastian nodded once. Very slowly. His stony expression remained. Jonathan wilted, when he realized he could feel his brother shaking. He didn't know if it was from anxiety, or from the fact he was trying so hard not to cry. Sebastian finally started forward, and Jonathan watched as he produced the key to the lock from his pocket. Tracking every movement carefully, in case there was something else he was going to do to his brother. But all he did was go to his ankles, and begin to unlock him._

_Jonathan jolted, the realization coming a little late as he spun around. He did so in the nick of time. The second the lock was undone, Cameron was falling. Jonathan had turned just at the right moment, to move his arms so he could catch him at least a little more than he would have the other way. His arms were practically rubber at this point, so he wasn't too helpful. And Cameron fell so heavily that Jonathan slipped off the chair. He hit the ground, but the way he did, he took most of the fall. Cameron was in his arms, so he was hurt less. But still, now that he could see his face more, Jonathan could tell that he was still more out of it than normal._

_The pair hit the ground together. Cameron didn't make any move at all to get up. He probably_ couldn't _. He was still stuck in the straitjacket, and in a haze. So Jonathan didn't move, either. He just shifted, pulling his knees up to his chest so he could hug even closer to him. Wrapping his arms around his brother and glaring daggers up at their father. Sebastian was studying Cameron like he was a car that wasn't starting, and he was already twenty minutes late to work. Like he was the biggest inconvenience that ever dared present itself to him. The look made Jonathan so mad he felt_ sick.

 _Sebastian's voice was so flat you could flip a coin off it. "You're_ not  _a magician, Cameron. Not yet," he growled. Cameron closed his eyes, hunching over like the declaration was actually a knife to the abdomen. Jonathan held him tighter. "You don't_ think.  _You don't_ try.  _You don't_ work.  _You don't take anything seriously. You have_ so  _much potential, but you_ waste it _, because you refuse to do anything but the_ bare minimum _."_

 _Cameron was hiding his face in his knees, but Jonathan heard when he gave a tearful sniff. He felt how he was stiffening to try and keep himself from shaking. Their father didn't care at all. "You don't put in the_ work _, Cameron," he repeated._   _"I shouldn't have to hold your hand as much as I do." His scathing glare flickered to Jonathan. "And Jonathan shouldn't have to_ constantly _take care of you the way he does. You need to_ understand  _that you have work to do, still. And you'd better start_ putting  _in the work. Do you not realize that_ this  _is what happens when you aren't as good as you need to be!? That you get hurt when you don't work as hard as you need to!? You_ could have  _done that escape, if you were_ better.  _If it didn't take ages for you to grasp the simplest tricks! If you didn't just stop and stare stupidly when I give you harder ones, you could have been at that level. But you aren't. You wouldn't have gotten hurt if you were better! And_ that's  _why our audiences are getting smaller. Because they're not as_ interested.  _Because the only tricks you can do are ones designed for_ toddlers.  _Because those are the only ones you can_ do.  _And they'll be the only ones you can_ ever  _do, if you don't_ shape up! Do you understand me, Cameron?"

 _The longer he spoke, the faster his words got. The closer he walked, so that by the end of it, he was practically looming over him. Jonathan responded pulling him back a little bit, as if the minimal distance that was added would help at all._ "Cameron, stop crying!"  _His brother sniffed, biting down on another sob as he picked his head up and stared ahead miserably, trying but failing to wipe his expression. Sebastian glared down at him, in silence, until Cameron was forced to look up and meet his gaze. His father was practically talking through his teeth. "I want you to remember this. And I want you to think about this the next time I ask you to do something_ simple.  _The next time you think you want to show me how_ smart  _can be." This was bathed in derision. "Or the next time you say you don't want to practice a trick anymore because you're_ scared."  _When Cameron just looked at him, he prompted: "Have I made myself_ clear _, Cameron?"_

" _Yes." Cameron's reply was quick, but it was choked and tearful._

_Sebastian didn't look satisfied. But at least he didn't say anything more. He glanced at Jonathan, just as stonily, to see that his other son was still glaring at him with undisguised loathing. His own scowl sharpened, as if in almost a silent warning. But he was through with the situation, evidently. He turned and he left the two of them there on the ground. The moment he turned his back on them and started away, Cameron's thinly-constructed wall of apathy was crumbling, and he ducked down again, his shoulders shaking as he relapsed into crying._

_It snapped Jonathan out of his stupor of rage. His anger ebbed; the sorrow came back instead. The bone-deep, aching sorrow and regret as he heard Cameron's hitching gasps and heavy sobbing. He hugged him tighter, hesitating and just trying to find the right words to say. Fumbling for them desperately, but coming up with nothing._

_He wasn't even sure that there was_   _anything he_ could _say._

Her hand stayed extended out towards him.

The silence stayed oppressive.

The longer the quiet stretched, the tenser it became.

His growl was so low, it barely broke it. "You want me to trust you…and go with you."

"It's what you want, too," she reasoned. His eye twitched again. "It's why you haven't shot me yet. It's why you're hesitating— it's why you don't hate me. Because you know I'm right. Because even though I framed you, I  _still_ haven't wronged you as much as everyone else has. Cameron told me that he would do anything for you." Jonathan stiffened the second his name passed her lips again. "He told me there wasn't anything that he wouldn't do, but he didn't mean it. He was talking to me during the auction…worrying about that FBI agent's  _job_ more than he was your freedom.  _That's_  why you've been stuck for a year— because of  _him_ , not because of me.

"And what did he say, every time that you asked him to stop all the magic? All the hiding, all the secrecy,  _just_ so you could have a better life?" Jonathan didn't answer. But he didn't need to. "He said  _no._ One more tour. One more show. He'd rather keep his own ego…his own fame…over giving you a  _life of your own._ He wouldn't do  _anything_ for you. He wouldn't do a  _single thing_ for you." She tilted her head to the side, grinning brilliantly. "But look at what  _I_ would do for you. Look at what lengths  _I_ would go to." He swallowed thickly. "If Cameron truly cared about you, he would have done so many things differently. But he only cared about himself. Time and again, he was given the chance to do right by you, and he kept choosing to do the opposite."

Jonathan's face fell more. He stuttered: "You…Cameron..."

"Only held you down," she completed. She shook her head. " _I_  can give you what you've always wanted, Jonathan."

His mouth was dry as he stared at her. His arms were lead, they'd been raised to aim the gun for so long. Now, they were beginning to drop. Was it because they were just too tired? Or was it because he was slowly changing his mind? She was watching him intently, tracking his every emotion, but he wasn't even sure  _he_ knew what they were. His mind was everywhere. He was thinking of the way Cameron had eagerly ranted about the Times Square trick, ignoring all of Jonathan's looks or small protests that they should just quit. He thought of the way he had sat in jail for an entire year, and how he had  _still_ stayed there once Cameron had 'joined' the FBI, hearing about all the cases he was solving and wrapping up, and knowing that  _his_ case was not one of them.

He thought of how many times he had wished he had his own life.

How many times he wanted things to be different.

But then he remembered everything else. He remembered how he'd always have to hide a grin whenever Cameron smiled his stupid idiotic smile at him, even when they were knee-deep in a horrible day. He remembered how many nights they'd stayed up laughing together, how many movie nights they'd had and how many quotes they could parrot to make the other crack up even more. He remembered Cameron waking him up early every single morning on their birthday with a cupcake already in his hands and a candle burning. He remembered his brother laughing for hours over the stupidest most un-funny jokes, crying at the table an hour later because Jordan had told him the penguin one.  _Again._ How he was always excited, and how he'd only get  _more_  excited to spite Jonathan whenever he told him to be quiet.

He remembered how, when they were kids, Cameron would crawl into his bed whenever it was storming or whenever their dad had yelled at them. He remembered how he always cried, and how he always seemed to relax when Jonathan immediately reached over to hug him closer. How he always ran to him after shows to slam into him with the hardest hug Jonathan had ever –  _still_ – felt. How Jonathan could tell anyone that wanted to know every single detail about his brother, because he knew him like the back of his hand. How Cameron had looked at him on the other side of that glass after that night, looking hard into his eyes, and told him he trusted that he hadn't killed anyone, and that he would do whatever it took to prove it. How he had spent that year searching blindly for the person that had framed him, visiting him every chance he could possibly get, and calling when it wasn't possible.

With every memory, his eyes filled with even more water. His throat burned as he held the gun tighter. So tight that his knuckles went white and his hands shook. He remembered how Cameron had looked on the floor of that vault, his skin pale and lips blue and heart stopped. How unresponsive he had been, not only to Jonathan and Gunter's compressions, but to Jonathan's desperate begging for him to open his eyes again. He remembered that  _most_  of all; and he knew he would remember that the most, every day for the rest of his life.

That sorrow turn to rage all over again as he looked at her, just like it had changed at the auction house.

He scowled and curled his finger around the trigger again. He readjusted his hold and narrowed his eyes in concentration. Her eyes flashed; she actually began to straighten with this. Maybe she was finally realizing that the effort to sway him was pointless. But if she hadn't realized it yet, his next words did the trick.

"I want my  _brother_ ," he spat.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

'In six hundred feet, turn left. Then, turn right.'

Cameron groaned, screwing his eyes shut as he tightened his hold on the steering wheel. He had to, if he wanted to keep his grip on it in the fist place; his hands were going numb by this point, and they were shaking more and more. He felt like he was going to throw up, and if he wasn't  _flooring_ it like he was, he might have pulled over to get sick right on the side of the road. But he didn't have the time to waste; he barely had the time to listen to Waze tell him where to  _go._ The only reason he still  _was_ was because he was in so much pain he couldn't trust himself to actually know where he was going.

By this point he could hardly breathe; every miniscule movement caused agony to stab through his chest and wrap around his throat. He was shaking so much his  _vision_ was, too. His head was probably going to crack open from the pressure of his headache— he was waiting for it, any second now. But he clamped his mouth closed and gritted his teeth, refusing to let up. He was almost there. He was  _almost there,_ and this time he  _knew_ it was where he'd find her, he  _knew_ it, was one hundred percent positive. There was no doubt in his mind; he could just  _feel_ that this was the right way to go this time.

This time, he'd find her. He'd find  _something._ This time he would fix it.

He repeated the mantra in his head over and over again, fighting to stay centered enough to keep going. He just needed to  _make_ it there; if he made it there, then that was all he needed to do. Everything would be fixed after that, he just needed to stay awake, he needed to keep his head on his shoulders, he needed to gag all the pain down, he needed to drive  _faster_. And he was. He  _would._ He was following the GPS and he was almost there. Two more turns, two more simple motions with his arms that would hurt him like absolute hell, not that he wasn't already in the deepest thicket of it yet. His eyes were streaming and his lungs were burning and his head was spinning, but he kept his thoughts to where they needed to be.

He kept them on Johnny.

And he kept going.

'In one thousand feet, you will have arrived at your destination!'

He couldn't see anything— he didn't know whether that was because his vision was going so dark or if Dina's headlights just  _sucked._ He was going to be wise and assume that Dina just never went to the auto shop. It seemed an awful lot like her to just  _ruin_ everything. He reached out and slammed his brights on. The very second he did, he stiffened with a choked cry, seeing two figures standing right in the middle of the  _goddamn_ road. He swerved, basically falling to the side and just holding the wheel, because that was the easiest and most surefire way he was going to  _not_ commit murder. Couldn't really do that— Kay would probably not like him for the extra paperwork she'd have to do. Not that she liked him right now. She was probably planning her  _own_  murder of  _him_ right about now, really.

He collapsed to the side, yanking the wheel as he did. And once he figured – he  _hoped_ – he'd swerved enough, he held his stomach, sobbing and choking on the pain that was burning him from head to toe as he slammed his foot down on the brake. The car screeched to a stop; he was thrown forward and his head smacked against the dashboard. His vision went white. He went still. For a second it was almost too much, and he almost passed out right there, hunched down awkwardly in the seat.

But the very last second before the blankness could slam down over him, he was dragging himself back up again. Forcing himself to move, and sobbing under his breath as he did. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly see. He could hardly  _move_. But he'd come all this way, and if anyone was here, then he was sure as  _hell_ going to see what they were doing. Who else could be out at two am in the exact spot that Jonathan had had his crash a year ago? What other  _couple?_

Besides. To repeat. They were standing. In the  _middle. Of the goddamn road._

Cameron was  _absolutely_  certain there were only  _two_  people in this world that would be  _so_  inconvenient at the  _same_  time.

After he fumbled with the handle for a very long time he eventually got it pulled back. And from there he basically fell out all over again, with his weight against the door. It was how he'd done it before; at this point it was just the easiest way. But he  _shouldn't_ have. This time he was even worse _,_ and he couldn't manage to catch himself like he had before, with Kay. He tried, but the second his leg was planting on the ground, it was buckling in on itself, and he just fell. The hit the ground hard, with a painful gag. Again, he almost passed out right then. At this point he was pretty regretful he  _wasn't_. Somehow he managed to stay awake, though he was hanging onto consciousness by its very threads.

He used the car door handle as a means of pulling himself up. When he stood, it was with obscene difficulty and agony. He was shaking and sweating. It felt like he was choking and burning alive at the same time. He could only open one eye against all the pain; the other stayed tightly closed. Again, his other arm went automatically to wrap around his stomach. He could only stand by leaning against the open door; if it wasn't there, he'd certainly just keel over sideways.

He was fairly certain he was going to vomit and die…not necessarily in that order.

But he managed to do all of this fairly quickly, for someone in his state. He deserved a pat on the back, really. It took less than thirty seconds for him to get back up, which, if there was some kind of Dying-Quickly-Because-You-Needed-To-Find-Your-Maniac-Brother-Before-He-Kills-Your-Alleged-Murderer-When-You-Really-Hadn't-Died Olympics, it would take the gold.

…Or maybe silver, it just depended on who else he was up against.

Once he stood (more or less) and wormed open one eye, he looked up and his heart squeezed hard in his chest.

Jonathan and MW were indeed the two that had been standing in the road. Cameron had swerved enough to veer pretty far away from them…ten or fifteen yards, maybe. With how warped his vision was, it was a miracle he recognized them. But then again, after everything, he wouldn't ever mistake his brother— his eyes went to him immediately. He didn't even really  _look_  at MW, even; his attention was just for his brother. His face broke out into a painful, relieved smile. Though it was dulled when he realized what he had walked into. That Jonathan was frozen, gun in hand and aiming it straight for the mystery woman. Though now that Cameron had made his ever-so-graceful entrance into everything, he was distracted. The weapon was lowering just a little in his shock.

And he  _was_ shocked. Jonathan stared at him, completely blank, his eyes about five times as wide as they usually were. All the color was drained from his face as he stared at Cameron silently. Cameron was too far away and too disoriented to really garner anything  _else_ from his expression, but he was sure there was a lot to unpack. He saw that his brother's mouth was hanging halfway open; nothing was coming out, though. The silence was stunned and shocked and any other word you could use to define 'Really, Really Surprised.' They only stood like that for a couple of seconds, but it felt more like a couple years. Or maybe that was just because Cameron was fighting so hard to get his breath back.

Once he did, he managed to gasp something out. He hadn't really thought this far ahead, enough to actually think of what he was going to say. If he was being truly honest, he  _still_  wasn't even really thinking about it. It was near impossible to think of anything much beyond 'Ow' and 'This might have been a bad idea.' He was hitched to it, now, though; there was no doubling back. So he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind; something he didn't have to think of at all, since he  _couldn't_ think. His words were wheezy and unstable, shaking just as much as he was. He gasped each one out, limply raising the arm that  _wasn't_ clinging to the car to jab a finger in the general direction of his brother. His head began to hang down low.

He tried to talk louder to compensate for it. 'Cause it was rather  _important_ he get this point across.

"You…" he wheezed, heaving for air. "…have been  _such…_ an inconvenience for me."


	6. Chapter 6

" _Cameron…" Jonathan broke the silence after only a few heartbeats. But it had felt more like a few years. Cameron didn't react; he just kept sobbing and sniffling. Jonathan could feel how hard he was still shaking. He_ always  _shook like this after their dad yelled at him. Or even when he yelled at_ Jonathan,  _he would start to tremble, and that was even when Jonathan typically didn't even_ care _. Their dad_ terrified  _Cameron. This was_ exactly  _why. "Cameron …" He let go of his brother, only so he could move to sit in front of him. His knees were still pulled to his chest; he was still hiding his face. He was still stuck in that straitjacket, too. "Cameron, look at me." His voice was overly gentle, after all that yelling._

 _Cameron sniffed again. For a moment, he didn't do anything. After a second, though, he picked his head up. His eyes were red and puffy, and tears were streaked down his face. He looked absolutely miserable, and that angered sorrow was back to punch Jonathan in the gut. He shook his head. "Cam…you didn't do anything wrong. He wasn't being fair." He felt like he said that too much. "He_ knew _you wouldn't be able to get out of that jacket. He was just doing it to hurt you."_

_Cameron's lower lip trembled. His shoulders hunched. It took a second, but it burst out. Everything in nothing more than a sob. "I'm not a good magician!" he cried. Jonathan grimaced and ducked his head. "I'm not a good magician, I'm ruining everything! I can't do anything right!" He was practically hyperventilating. "I'm not good enough— I'm not good enough! I'm never gonna be good enough for him!"_

_Jonathan's heart tore at the wail. "Cameron, that's just because he's_ stupid,"  _he tried. He attempted to put strength behind his words, but he couldn't manage it, looking at him. "Cameron, you did really good! You tried your best! How can he expect you to get out of all of that when he never taught you? You can't know everything! That's not fair! You don't deserve to have all that pressure on your shoulders."_

" _I don't know enough, I'm not good enough," Cameron sobbed. Jonathan closed his eyes, taking in a slow breath, and letting it out just as gradually. "I do my best but I just— I get scared, I can't— I can't breathe, and I can't move, and I want to scream, but I can't, and I'm just stuck, and I— and— and it_ feels just like this and I want out of it I can't take it I can't breathe I can't do it let me out!"  _He started to break down. His words started to rush and blend together, and his volume climbed until he was practically screaming. Yanking on his arms which weren't able to move at all, and thrashing from side to side, crumbling against his building claustrophobia._

 _Jonathan knew the word because he'd made a point to read about it. He read all about how small spaces made some people scared. How it made them shake and feel dizzy, and how they had to get out of there unless they wanted it to get worse. It was an anxiety thing— a_ nervous _thing. He knew Cameron had it. So he immediately rushed to try and soothe him. "Cameron! Cameron, it's okay! It's okay, I saw him put it on, I can take it off!" Cameron was breathing fast again, and Jonathan scrambled back closer to him._

_He tried to do it as fast as he could. But it was overly complicated, even for him to figure it out. It just made it even more obvious how unfair it was for their dad to have assumed Cameron could get out all by himself, while upside down. Jonathan had to fumble with the straps and yank a couple times. He felt bad, when Cameron only breathed sharper and trembled more. He muttered a string of apologies, his guilt just growing. But eventually he got it._

_Cameron gasped for air once the pressure was released from his lungs. Sobs punctured the edges. He could move now, and the instant Jonathan wormed the jacket off of him all the way, he was holding his head in his hands, freezing as he hyperventilated there, now. Jonathan rushed back in front of him again. He grabbed his shoulders, and tried to talk him down. "Cameron, it's okay." Cameron squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he possibly could. "It's over, Cam, and I promise I won't let that happen again. I promise I won't let him put you upside down again; you're okay now. You're okay, I promise. Cam, you gotta calm down…"_

_It took a couple reiterations, but eventually his breathing evened out and grew quieter. He slowly untensed. All that was left without that panic, was just sadness and disappointment, though. Jonathan was in pain himself, just to see it. It wasn't fair for Cameron to be disappointed in himself. He didn't do anything wrong. But apparently that didn't matter to him. He took their father's words to heart. He always did._

_Cameron started to uncurl. He dropped his arms and slouched. Suddenly, he looked exhausted. Jonathan kept his hands on his shoulders. "Are you okay, Cam?" he pressed, after a second. Cameron looked up at him, but he didn't say anything. He just stared at him. It was like he was asking a question, but Jonathan couldn't really figure out what it was. Or maybe even Cameron didn't know, himself. Not knowing what else to do, Jonathan decided to try and smile again._ "I  _think you're a_ great  _magician, Cameron," he said softly. "And_ I  _think you're good enough. You'll_ always  _be good enough for me, Cam."_

_His brother weakened, and more tears rushed to fill his eyes. His lips started trembling again. Jonathan kept that smile anyway, hoping every second that it would actually take, this time. But it didn't. Cameron just kept crying. And after a few seconds, he got out a small croak of: "Johnny, I don't feel good…"_

_Jonathan's expression broke. He ducked his head again, trying to hide that grimace from his brother as much as he could. That sorrow and sympathy and anger and loathing and fear. What if he hadn't been there to push Cameron up? What if he hadn't been there to protect him? Dad took him out all the time and left him back here— what if one of those times, something like this happened? Would their dad have ever decided enough was enough? Or would he have just stood there and watched Cameron just_ hang  _there? What if Cameron hung there too long? What if he died?_

 _It made him sick. It made him start crying himself, though he tried to hide that, too. He tried; he was just bad at it. He was so scared._ Still  _scared, from seeing Cameron just hanging there not reacting to him. He_ left… _for that brief moment. He was_ gone.  _Jonathan didn't want him to be gone, he wanted him to with him, where he belonged._

_So, what if he hadn't been there to protect him?_

_What if…in the_ future,  _something would happen, and he wouldn't be there to protect him?_

_He was too choked to reply. He was crying more and more. In a way that he knew he wouldn't be able to hide it. So he did the next best thing, and he pulled Cameron into a hug. Wrapping his arms around him, Jonathan held him as tightly as he possibly could. Probably enough to cause pain for his brother, but Cameron didn't react badly. In fact, he buried his head down into his shoulder and held him back, just as hard. With just as much desperation. Cameron kept crying. Jonathan felt his shoulder get wet. But he didn't say anything._

_He let him cry. He let him catch his breath. He let him feel safe—_ tried _to make him feel as safe as he possibly could._

 _Terrified of the next moment he_ wouldn't  _anymore, and horrified at the thought that he might not be there to help get him through it._

"I want my  _brother,"_ Jonathan spat, pure loathing dripping off of every word of the snarl. He was holding the gun so tightly it was practically digging into his palm— it was going to shatter in his grip. The four words were a confirmation to a question that he had been too afraid to ask himself up to now. It threw aside any lingering doubt; it cemented his actions. He'd hesitated before, but he wasn't going to now.

He was the big brother. Not by a  _lot._ But he was older. And he protected Cam. Ever since they were kids, he had tried his best to keep him safe, like he had promised him time and again. He had smiled when he'd seen him happy, and he had been in pain when they had fought. And they  _had_ fought, and there  _had_ been problems, more so recently, and maybe he  _had_ made blind wishes in the moment of having his own life, but now he knew the gravity of that wish. Now he knew what life would be like without Cameron. How empty he would feel, how half a person he  _truly_ was without his brother— but not even that, just how much he didn't even  _want_ to be whole if that meant Cameron would be gone.

He didn't  _mind_ being half a person, with him.

He  _wanted it back._

He'd wanted to rush down to the floor of that vault and hug him— hold him so tightly that he would be able to feel that first gasp of air he would get when the door was shoved open. He wanted to tell him he did good, he wanted to tell him everything would be okay, like he would always do when they were kids. He wanted to see him stand back up, he wanted to hear his voice. And the reason he couldn't do that was standing right in front of him. The reason his life was ruined and now could never get back to normal— she was right  _there_ , and his gun was aimed.

All he needed was to pull the trigger.

This time, he wouldn't take the threat back. This time, he would act on it.

He planted his feet firmer into the ground, and started to curl his finger in more—

When suddenly, a harsh beam of light threw itself over them. Jonathan's reaction time was half a second more delayed than MW's. He had a fleeting instant to see her eyes flicker away from him and widen with uncharacteristic surprise. His head whipped back to see the oncoming car suddenly swerve sharply to the right. Tires screamed against the asphalt as it careened into the best brake it could manage. The pair in the street were caught off-guard, their encounter ruined out of sheer confusion and panic at the close call.

Jonathan was about to whirl back around and finish the job. Who  _cared_ if someone was here to see? If it was someone like Kay or Mike, the instant they were running out, anyway, this would all be ruined. If it was a random passerby, then why even bother? He was going to miss his window. Already, he had wasted enough time here floundering; he couldn't stall anymore. One curl of his finger and she would be gone, it was as simple as that. He needed to shoot her before he could be stopped or before she could run—

Right as he was about to turn, though, the door opened and the maniac driver fell out of vehicle and onto the ground. They hit it with a pathetically-twisted noise of agony. Jonathan's eyes widened as they fumbled to hang onto the door, and pull themselves up. It took them a horribly long time to get up to their feet, and even when they did, they couldn't straighten all the way. They were hunched over, crippled. Anyone with eyes could see that they needed medical attention and they needed it  _now._

But it wasn't concern for the person's injuries that had Jonathan's eyes widening. Had his face paling. Had his heart stopping and his breath catching and his eyes burning. It wasn't concern. It was  _shock._ He couldn't believe it, when they forced themselves to lift their head. The moment their eyes locked, Jonathan was choking on his own air. It didn't make sense. His mind stuttered and blanked. He  _knew_ him, but it wasn't— it wasn't  _possible,_ it—he was— he hadn't been  _breathing,_ he— he'd  _suffocated,_ it—

"You…" Cameron wheezed, heaving for air. "…have been  _such_ …an inconvenience for me."

His head was ducking again, like it had been when he'd first stood up. Like he couldn't manage to hold it up for long. He staggered as he let the arm which had –  _kind_ of? – been pointing at Jonathan swing down to his side again. If he wasn't leaning against the car, he would have fallen. Thankfully, it was a fairly good prop. Jonathan said nothing. He was frozen in that shock. He felt all the energy and strength in him – or, whatever was remaining – drain away. His arms were falling, his grip on the gun nowhere near as tight as it had been only three minutes before. Staring at Cameron, his legs started to buckle. He staggered, just like he had. Suddenly he seemed just as liable to fall.

Cameron gripped the door even tighter, choking as he forced himself to look up again. Attempting to straighten all the way was out of the question. Even getting halfway like this was too much. If he pushed it even more, he was sure to get sick. MW was staring Cameron down, he could feel it. But his stare was solely for his brother. His eyes were bright with pain, but when they flickered down to the weapon he was holding, they flashed with desperation, as well. His brother was staring at him like he was a deer in headlights. Like Cameron  _hadn't_ veered away from them and was still barreling towards him at sixty miles an hour. Oddly enough, the look was making his throat start to burn and swell.

"…Johnny." Jonathan practically  _flinched_ at the nickname. Cameron was trying to speak loud enough to be heard. But he still couldn't draw in that much air. It was a struggle, but he tried anyway. Jonathan was absolutely blank. His mouth hung open but nothing was coming out. Cameron cringed before he got himself to shake his head. "Johnny— put the gun down," he begged. Jonathan blinked much faster than normal. He was still mute as he looked down, like he'd forgotten it was there. "Johnny, don't…do this. I'm here— I'm  _fine._ You don't need to do anything…you just need t' come back with me…"

Jonathan looked back at him. Then back at the gun, and then to him. Cameron could see his gears turning. Usually he was the faster one. Now, he looked like he couldn't even tell you what two plus two equaled. Cameron staggered again, his head spinning a little away from him. He was getting dizzy. He kept trying to choke out whatever he could. "Johnny, I'm  _okay,_ you left before—" He flinched, ducking his head. He had to force himself to take in another breath before he could go on, his voice only getting more and more brittle. His chest hurt. "The paramedics, they came and— they got me back, I was— …taken to the…th' hospital, we…you don' need to do this." He was having trouble getting it all out.

He realized with a pang that Jonathan was crying. Tears weren't running down his face, but he knew his brother well enough to see the unnatural shine in his eyes. He'd always  _hated_ crying. He always had a  _thing_ about it. Maybe he was worried he'd look weak. Cameron never worried about it— he'd started crying over one of those ASPCA commercials before. But Jonathan  _despised_ it, so he just never  _did._ He never even let himself get  _close._ Now, Cameron could see the gleam of those unshed tears. He could see the faintest trembling of his brother's lips. He could see that stoic expression start to break.

Cameron felt hope blossom in his chest. He started to smile.

Before Jonathan turned back to MW, and Cameron's grin fell away at once.  _"What is this?"_ Cameron's blood ran cold. He'd never heard Jonathan sound so furious in his entire life. MW didn't bat an eye. Cameron went stiff though, when Jonathan's arms snapped up again, to once more aim the gun at her. His cry of objection was lost when Jonathan rushed on.  _"What is this, is this some kind of joke?"_ he spat. He couldn't tell what his brother was more: mournful, or livid. " _Do you think this is funny!?"_

Cameron weakened. "Jonathan—"

" _Who is that!?"_ Jonathan screamed, still refusing to look at him. MW said nothing. Her silence was only making it worse, though. He was definitely crying, now. The tears were running down his face. His voice shattered into pieces when he demanded:  _"Who is that— why are you doing this!?"_

He tried to take a step closer. But he was already stumbling. He couldn't let go of the car, either, otherwise he'd fall. He was forced to stay where he was. He struggled to raise his voice despite the pain it caused. "Johnny, it's  _me,_ I'm—" He stopped short immediately, his eyes flying wide as Jonathan whirled around to aim the gun at  _him,_ instead. The instant he did, Cameron was flattening himself against the open door. He was paling, and his mouth was snapping shut, on pure instinct. Jonathan was glaring at him with all the anger there was in the world.

"Who  _the fuck_ are you?" Cameron's eyes were huge; he said nothing. " _I said who are you!?"_

"Jonathan, it's  _me!"_ Cameron forced himself to yell back. Pure pain lashed itself over Jonathan's face. But he didn't lower the gun. Cameron could see his hands were shaking. "Jonathan—  _Jonathan_ , if you shoot me I'm gonna be  _really mad,"_ he warned, fighting to make his voice even the tiniest bit lighter. He couldn't really keep it from wavering. As it was, it was already so fragile. "Jona—" He flinched, but forced down a harsh breath. "Johnny, come on; don't be an idiot, it's me, it's Cam—"

" _Cameron's dead!"_ He flinched again at the fact his brother practically screeched this. "Cameron's  _dead,_ I  _saw_ him, I  _watched him die!"_ Jonathan was holding him in just as much contempt as he had MW. "So you  _tell me who you are,_ tell me why she put you up to this!" Cameron's eyes flickered to MW. It was the first time they had locked eyes; he threw a poisonous glare in her direction. She was still expressionless.

" _Tell me!"_ Jonathan screamed, and Cameron looked back. "You have ten seconds!"

His mind was blank at first. Oddly enough, it was a bit hard to think when a gun was pointed straight at you. But eventually, after a heart-stopping couple of seconds, he fished out a reply from thin air. A reply that was very  _noticeably_ plucked out of thin air, but regardless. It was there in the first place, and he believed he was warranted some praise for that. "Nobody can do  _anything_  in ten seconds," he wheezed. "You're not being fair."

Jonathan didn't react at first. Cameron was worried he'd made a mistake. He was already fairly certain that  _some_ part of him, to  _some_ degree was probably dying. It would kind of suck if Jonathan changed that just because he was in the mood to have the  _whole_ of him die. But Cameron stiffened when he realized that there was a small change in the very back of his brother's eyes. They flashed with something close to pain, and he saw the smallest waver in his posture— the tiniest slack in his arm. The tiniest confusion, and hesitation, at the odd reply, so flippantly given.

Hope started to crawl back over his face. "Jonathan, it's  _me;_ you  _know_ it's me." His brother's expression broke even more. It was all the encouragement he needed to keep going. "They revived me as soon as you left, Jonathan. I was taken to the hospital— when I woke up an' they told me you were gone, I left— I knew I had to find you. An' I know it's taken me a long time, I know you've done a lot of stuff, and I'm  _sorry_ , I'msorry that I didn't get here sooner. I'm  _so_ sorry, but Jonathan— I'm here  _now._ We can fix this. We'll figure a way out, you just need to put the gun down. An' you just need to come back with me."

The silence that followed was earsplitting. Cameron's smile grew wearier in it. The longer he didn't get a response, the more nervous he became. The only sound was Cameron's labored and hitching breathing, which seemed to echo in the dark. Jonathan was still staring at him with unbelievable sorrow and pain. "Jonathan… _Johnny_ ," he tried, and Jonathan practically recoiled when then nickname once again passed his lips. "Johnny, put the gun down," he urged. Jonathan's eyes flashed. "C'mon. Put…the gun down."

"Is that it?" Jonathan hissed, and he perked immediately with confusion. His growl was unstable and reluctant— much more so than it had started out. He could tell that his foundations were crumbling. But it hadn't crumbled enough, yet. Apparently. "Is that what you want me to do, you want me to drop the gun?" Cameron opened his mouth to object, but Jonathan wasn't waiting.

His grip on the car door went vice-like again when he turned and redirected the gun back to MW. "Is this all some  _fucked up_ trick?" She was still studying Cameron; she looked back slowly with this. Still, somehow, she was unfazed. "You think if you get someone that looks like him, I won't kill you?" Cameron's mind was racing, yet completely blank at the same time. He was struggling to kick into gear and actually think. Jonathan readjusted his hold on the gun and planted his feet again. "I'm not backing off—  _not_ this time. I should have shot you before when I had the chance, I'm not going to let it slip away just because—"

"If I'm not  _me_ , then how could I know that when we were five, you were scared of the talking snowman on that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer special, and you  _refused_  to build one that year because you were afraid it would come up to our room at night!?" Cameron blurted out. Jonathan stopped talking immediately. He went even stiffer. He didn't turn around. He kept his back to him…he kept aiming for MW's head. But he said nothing. Cameron forced in another breath and kept going. "Or— how when we were like… _thirteen,_ I got you a  _shitload_ of orange Tic-Tacs for your birthday, but you  _ate_ them all in like  _three hours._ I  _told_ you not to, but you  _did,_ and you got sick after, and it was bright orange and I was like…'I  _told you,_ Jonathan! I  _told_ you not to eat all those Tic-Tacs!'" He had  _no_ air left, he was basically just gasping and panting all of this out, stopping every other five seconds to grimace a pang of agony away. But now that he started, he was certainly wasn't going to stop.

"Or how would I be able to know that your favorite joke ever was that one— was that one where I'm like: 'Hey…! Hey, what do we want!?' And you go— and you go: 'Low-flying planes!' And then…" He staggered, choking back a hard swallow that suddenly tasted like bile. He pushed it away. "And then I go 'When do we want 'em!?'" he wheezed. "And then you go…'Nyoowww—!' I can't make the…I can't make the noise, right now, but you…but you know what I'm talkin' about." He pointed to MW, raising his eyebrows a little and ignoring the look she was giving him. "You…you get it, right? You know what I'm— …it's the sound that…it's the sound that a low-flying plane would…make, but it also sounds like— yeah," he panted.

His chest was on  _fire_. "Your favorite kind of cookie is a sugar cookie, Jonathan! That's the  _most boring flavor of cookie,_ and you don't even  _put anything_ on it, you remember that time I put frosting on that batch and you  _yelled_  at me for five minutes!?" Jonathan's arm was slowly folding back to his chest. He started to turn. He looked shocked…but underneath the initial blankness, he could see a strange kind of alarm. Or, maybe not alarm. Maybe it was something else. Cameron was having difficulty seeing by this point. "Why  _yell_  a' someone for five minutes because of a  _cookie—_ you're so  _mean,_ Jona…than, you're like the  _worst_ you yelled at me once for saying 'I could care less', you're like: 'Oh…Cameron…! That means you  _do_ care, if you  _could_  care  _less,_ then that means you— have to at least care a  _little…_ to get  _less,_ you meant I  _couldn't_ care less!'and you spent like—  _seven minutes talkin' about it,_ but  _guess what_ Jonathan!? I could  _care less about me saying I could care less incorrectly!_ So there _!"_

He had turned around fully, by now. He was staring at Cameron with an expression that was quickly falling, more and more. His arms were going slack to his side. He was still speechless. By now, anything Cameron could manage to force out was nothing more than a hiss. It was strained, and weak. His chest was burning; it felt like he was losing the ability to breathe in with every single inhale. Each one got shallower and shallower. He was trying to rush through his words, as if to compensate. But he was getting dizzier. He was staggering more, and his legs were tingling. His hand was getting less able to hold onto the door.

"'nd when we were little, we would always play Truth-or-Dare when it got late because we didn' w'nna wake up Dad," Cameron choked. "'nd one night I asked you what your worst fear was, and you said it was endin' up alone." Jonathan's eyes were welling fast with tears. "'nd I told you that you didn't ever have to worry about that 'cause I would always be there to bother you…even  _when_ you wanted to be alone, I would…I would always be in the other room waitin' for when you didn' anymore— and I was tellin' the  _truth!_

"I was tellin' the  _truth_ Jonathan, and I know I haven' done a lot right, I know I've messed up an' I'm  _still_ messin' up, but you're not alone! 'm righ' here!" He wasn't paying attention to anything else. He was staring at Jonathan earnestly, sorrowfully. In pain, but begging for him to just  _listen_. "You're m' brother, and even though you're the  _worst,_ I love you! 'nd I'm gonna make everythin' righ', I just—" He cringed, biting back on a scream he didn't have the air for. Waves of pain were slamming into his head, over and over, absolutely relentless. They were so oppressive; his vision was beginning to edge with blackness. "I— 'm…s'rry—" He barely croaked out the last three words before his knees were suddenly buckling.

His knees hit the ground first, which  _hurt._ From there, he sagged to the side and collapsed that way. The instant his body weight rested on the site of one of his injured ribs, he was trying to scream again. It died in his throat, but the agony that was on his face spoke all the volume that it needed to.

The second he tried and failed to do this screech, Jonathan was crying out, his own voice strangled.  _"Cameron!"_ He dropped the gun, breaking out of his stupor and sprinting for his brother. Cameron hardly heard, his head was throbbing so much. All he heard was his own heartbeat his ears, horribly fast and hard at the same time. Jonathan was shaking when he skidded to a stop and dropped down next to him. His eyes were huge as he just stared for a couple of seconds. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. But, unthinkingly, by pure muscle memory maybe, his arms were wrapping around his brother. Somehow he managed to be gentle. His voice was in pieces and shaking when he croaked: "Cameron…?"

Jonathan pulled him back center and helped prop him there, an arm circling around the back of his shoulders once he realized his sides were off-limits. Cameron was gasping and flinching, wheezing uncontrolled gasps that made his sides heave and therefore made the pain a million times worse. He couldn't sit up by himself. Jonathan scooted closer at once, so he could rest against him. His heart leapt up to lodge into his throat when Cameron lashed out with one arm, to grip tightly to his. So tightly, his fingers were digging into his skin. It hurt, but Jonathan didn't care. He just stared in shock as Cameron wormed one eye open a little and lifted one half of his mouth up into a smile.

It was more of a cringe. But the second that the attempt was made, Jonathan's chest was absolutely ripping in agony. It was far back in his gaze, but it was there— the flash of mischief and humor that he'd always only had to look to the side to see, his entire life. That annoying sense of eagerness that he'd sometimes thought was annoying, but for the past few days had missed like it was his right arm, and now he was crippled without it. Seeing it now was like being in the desert for months and finally getting an opportunity to have water. The relief he felt was like a punch, and the second Cameron smiled at him, and the second the shock passed, Jonathan started to laugh. Because he couldn't believe it. Because he couldn't believe that Cameron was here, he couldn't believe that Cameron was  _smiling_ at a time like this, because he couldn't believe that his brother would immediately start  _insulting him_ the second they were back together.

Jonathan started laughing. But, very quickly, he was crying instead. He was sobbing, as he held Cameron closer, looking him up and down like he was worried he would disappear any second. Cameron didn't let go of his arm, possibly as some added reassurance that yes, he was still there. He kept trying to smile, and though his eyes had already been watering from the pain, they were tearing up more now. His brother looked exhausted and beaten. He looked like he hadn't slept in ages. But most importantly, he looked like the fact he could see Cameron now was too good to be true. He was smiling, but he was sobbing violently. Cameron was losing grip on a lot of stuff by now, but he was aware enough to realize that he didn't think he'd ever heard Jonathan cry this hard. Or if he had, he couldn't remember it right now.

"Cameron!?" He was still holding him around the shoulders. Not thinking, his other hand was fumbling to do absolutely anything. He was holding to Cameron's arm just as hard as Cam was to his. He was gripping his shoulder, he was pressing against his cheek like he was testing to see whether his hand would go straight through. Cameron's head was beginning to droop, so he grabbed his chin and helped him get him get it back up. Cameron flinched and winced, but he said nothing, clamping his teeth against the pain. Horrible concern was beginning to leak in underneath Jonathan's relief. "You're not— you're  _here_ , you— I thought you were—" His voice was in pieces when he cried: "I thought you were dead!"

"N't…yet," Cameron choked, hardly able to be heard.

Jonathan looked him over yet again, horrified and worried, but still so unable to actually realize what was going on. It was still taking him some time to buffer. "What's— you— you're hurt, Cameron, you— why did you leave the hospital? Are you—?" He was reeling. For the last few days, his brother had been dead. Now he was alive, and he was in his arms, but he was in so much pain. He was gasping and choking— he needed help. It was like whiplash, and Jonathan was just struggling to get his mind to stop racing enough to actually focus. He was trying to think of too many things at once. For ages now, that's all he'd done. Cameron needed help— he needed to focus on that. He could ask questions later.

As long as there  _was_ a later.

"H'd'ta…find…" Cameron choked, flinching again.

Jonathan weakened. His breathing was beginning to spike with a different kind of panic now. He shook his head. He tried to slow down enough to think. Cameron's eyes were practically closed, though Jonathan could see that he was struggling to keep them open. His head kept dipping, like he couldn't hold it up himself. His breathing was fast— way too fast, and shallow, too.

"Okay." He sniffed and looked him over, blinking the tears out of his eyes and not caring when they streaked down his cheeks. "Okay, you— don't worry, Cam, I'm going to help you." He held to Cameron tighter, trying to pick him up. But the very instant he so much as tilted Cam a fraction, his brother was screaming. Or, it wasn't a scream— he was so weak it sounded more like a strangled squeak. One that barely got out. It ripped Jonathan's heart to pieces, to hear. Made it even harder for him not to panic.

He froze. Cameron breathed fast through whatever pain Jonathan had inflicted on him by the tiny movement. By this point, there was a certain numbness crawling over his face. The second Jonathan recognized it, he was horrified. Because he  _did_ recognize it. It was the same relaxed look Cameron had worn on the floor of the vault. The instant it connected, he was gasping, his eyes going wide and his nerves flaring in panic. No— no, this wasn't going to happen a second time. Not after all this! "N— Cam,  _look_  at me," he begged, practically whispering. Cameron's head stayed hung. His eyes were still closed.  _"Cam!"_

Obscene relief rushed through him when Cameron forced his head up and pried his eyes open. They were disoriented and misty, only halfway open, but they were there. Jonathan shook his head fast. "Cam, I'm gonna help you, I'm gonna get you back to the hospital, you're going to be fine." Cameron's eyes were closing the longer he tried to keep them open. His  _chest._ Jonathan talked louder, as if it would make up for it. "Cam, come on— I— I'm going to have to lift you up, but— but you're going to be  _okay_ , you—"

"Well, this is touching." Jonathan froze, breaking off at once. In the moment, he'd forgotten. She had slipped his mind entirely. Now, when he turned, MW was standing over them, haughty and thoroughly unimpressed. If that wasn't enough, it only took an additional couple of seconds for Jonathan to realize she'd picked up his gun. The moment he did, though, she was drawing it, and aiming it down at him. "But I've never really been one for family reunions," she mused. "Too sappy for my taste."

His eyes were back to clouding with that rage. He held Cameron tighter. More protectively, he was curling him into his chest. Cameron wasn't reacting. It was taking all his concentration to breathe. "You  _knew_ ," he snarled through clenched teeth. She offered him a casual shrug. He was seeing red, just like he had when he'd first thought Cameron had died. "You  _knew,_ and you kept stringing me along,  _just_ so I would keep running! Just so I would dig my hole deeper! You  _knew!"_

"Of course I  _knew,"_ she returned. Ever so coolly. "And I may have lied. But that was the only lie I told you. Everything else was true. Everything I said— everything I promised. Everything you were  _tempted_ by." Her eyes flashed. She tilted her head to the side. "One last chance, Johnny," she warned. "One last chance to come with me instead, and have the life you actually  _deserve_. You'll be walking right back into your old one if you go with him. And you and I both know how much you hated that life." Her eyes flickered to Cameron. His head had sagged to rest against his brother's shoulder, by now. "Look at him," she urged. Jonathan did. "His time is running out, anyway. There's no hope for him left. You'll be going back to nothing. So what's the point?"

Growing in desperation, Jonathan gathered Cameron closer, rushing to lace his other arm underneath his knees and pick him up. The second he started, not only did Cameron let out that pitiful cry again, but MW shifted her aim, to point at Cameron's head now, instead of his. "You get up, I shoot him," she growled dully. Jonathan froze at once, horror and rage alike flowing through him. He hesitated for a moment, still half-crouching. MW didn't back down. After a heartbeat's hesitation, gritting his teeth together tightly, Jonathan sat back. He readjusted Cam and glowered up at her in silent expectation.

"What do you want?" he spat. Underneath his fury, he was panicking. She was right. They didn't have a lot of time left.

 _Cameron_ didn't have a lot of time left.

"I want to give you my offer. One last time," she replied. "I'm giving you one more chance to do what you know is right. Right for  _you._ Not right for  _him,_ or for that woman who left you for that FBI agent. But for  _you."_ Jonathan still scowled. He still cradled Cameron close, trying not to move him in any way at all, and cause him unnecessary pain. He was itching to get up and get into the car. He was trying to figure out how that would be possible— to move fast enough to avoid getting shot but carefully enough not to hurt Cameron. Jonathan was wracking his brain— he had no idea, but he had to figure one out and  _fast._

"Well?" MW prompted.

Jonathan's snap was immediate. "Go to hell."

He could have  _sworn_ he heard Cameron let out a tiny laugh.

MW's eye twitched. She scowled, and asked a thin: "Is that your final answer?" Jonathan glared at her even fiercer, and this was as good a confirmation as any. "Fine." Jonathan, stupidly hopeful enough to think that was it, started to bundle Cameron together more to try and stand again. But the second he tensed and prepared himself, she was speaking again, her voice louder and more clipped. "Then we'll have to do this the hard way." His head whipped back up towards her. She was still aiming the gun for Cameron's head. "I still need that diamond, Johnny. I can leave without  _you;_ but I'm not leaving  _that_ behind."

He started to spit: "Get it through your—"

"D'n't…" Cameron sounded like he was being strangled. Like he had no air left at all. It was a miracle he was heard. Every inhale was raspy and desperate, and agony was written across an expression that was quickly growing dead. Jonathan whirled back down to him, his eyes widening and his face falling at his brother's state. Cameron was struggling to open his eyes again. He was only managing opening them a quarter, though. "…h've…it…" He wasn't even really looking at MW; his lips hardly moved when he spoke.

"No. I should have realized you'd  _try_  something," she growled. "But I won't be as trusting this time around. I'll make sure; I  _will_ get it." Cameron said nothing; he was flinching through another wave of pain, struggling to get air down into his lungs. It was like he was trying to breathe through a straw that was a tenth of a millimeter wide. His grip on Jonathan's arm was weakening fast. Jonathan scowled at MW as she looked at him and declared: "It's just up to you how difficult you want to make this."

Jonathan was gritting his teeth, breathing harder. He shook his head once and started to bundle Cameron close again, his heart ripping to pieces when Cameron croaked that weak yelp again. Softer this time, and fuzzier. He needed a hospital. Jonathan wasn't going to lose him again— he  _wasn't._ Not again. "We're  _not_  helping you," he snarled. They were right in front of the driver side door of the car. If he really needed to, Jonathan could cram Cameron into the passenger seat from here, without going around the entire thing. It might hurt him a little bit more, but if it meant they could get away in time—

Before the thought even had the chance to finish itself out, she fired.

The shot sliced through the quiet. Jonathan cringed away, curling Cameron close to him. Cameron tensed hard. When the shock dulled away, he was the first thing Jonathan looked at. He stared down at his brother in abject horror, already feeling his heart begin to hammer against his ribs. But marginal relief ate at him when he saw that his brother was unscathed— he wasn't bleeding. She hadn't shot him.

She'd barely missed, though. There was a hole in the car only a couple of inches away from Cameron's head. The instant he realized this, Jonathan's head snapped back to MW, renewed fury rushing into his expression. She remained just as steely. "I warned you. You stand, I shoot." He opened his mouth, a yell building up on his tongue. She cut him off. "Here's how it's going to go. You're going to leave him there," she said, tilting her head towards Cameron. Jonathan's stomach was already plummeting, but it just fell faster as she continued. "You're going to come with me. Once we leave, we'll call an ambulance. And you're going to help me get the diamond back. Once you  _do_ , I can give you the flash drive. I get the diamond, Cameron gets the help he needs, and you can get the proof that shows you're innocent."

"The flash drive?"

"It's what Cameron would have gotten had he handed the diamond over in the first place. It contains the missing security camera footage from the night of the crash, here." Jonathan went stiff. His eyes widened even more. Suddenly, he was like Cameron; he couldn't breathe either. "It shows every detail of the set-up. It shows that the woman on the road was already dead…that you don't have any blood on your hands, and never did. And it's yours. If you leave Cameron now. If you come with me and help me get the diamond back, I'll hand you the flash drive. Simple. Everybody wins."

He choked back a swallow. The only thing left on his numbed face was bleary agony. He was beginning to twitch. Every so often, it sounded like he was choking. His arm had dragged away to go up and claw at his chest, like something was wrong. Jonathan felt frustration and despair and rage and fear boil together. He ducked down low, his forehead pressing to the top of Cameron's head. He didn't want to leave him. He'd already lost him once; the idea of losing him again was horrifying.

But…if there was no other—

"P…" Jonathan stiffened, drawing away again. His vision was warped, through the sheen of water. Cameron didn't lift his head, but he croaked again: "…ock…et…" It took him a second to even figure out what he was saying. But then he jerked, moving so that he could reach down and check. He tried to shift him so that he wasn't hurt in the process. He tried his left pocket first— nothing. There was nothing in his other one, either. He was starting to wonder if he'd misunderstood, when he tried his jacket pocket.

He pulled out a card. The moment he saw it, he realized what it was. His eyes widened; they flickered to him with alarm and disbelief. It was Kay's security card. Her credentials. What was it doing in Cameron's pocket? Why was Cameron holding it? His brain was slow; it occurred to him too late that he should have looked at whatever it was before MW had the chance to see it. Now, the damage was done. Her eyes had zeroed in on the card, and he knew there wasn't a doubt in her mind as to what it was.

She took a few steps closer, her eyes narrowing. "Give me it," she snapped.

Jonathan opened his mouth, before he realized that Cameron was trying to say something. Key word being trying. Jonathan waited, but his stomach twisted and heaved when he realized that Cameron  _couldn't_ say anything anymore. He didn't have the air to, and whatever air he  _did_ have, now he was using it to choke and whimper. His twitching was getting worse. Jonathan was starting to panic. He realized that although Cameron couldn't  _say_ it, he looked like he was shaking his head. Or at least, trying to. A strangled noise died in the back of his throat— his attempt at speaking. There was nothing there to hear but pain.

Jonathan couldn't understand the actual words.

But he knew their meaning. He  _recognized_  it, but, initially, he didn't want to.

He stared at him for a heartbeat, his breath caught in his throat. He agonized. His heart broke, when he realized what Cameron was meaning. What  _he_ was thinking about, even now, when he was in so much pain. Jonathan screwed his eyes shut. He held the card tighter, and wrapped his arms around Cameron, hiding the credentials behind his back. "Hand over the flash drive," he forced out. "Give us the flash drive, and we'll give you the card." Cameron's lips twitched numbly. Like he wanted to smile.

She actually smirked. "You think you're in the position to bargain with me?"

Subconsciously, his grip on Cameron was increasing. He was practically clinging to him. "You need the card, we need the flash drive." His voice was curt and tense. Because it was barely getting out. Because he wasn't paying attention. All he could think about was the fact that Cameron's shaking and breathing were only getting faster. That he was choking and getting worse by the second. He knew he didn't have a surplus of seconds left. That time was of the essence, and they didn't have  _this_ time, that they were wasting.

MW knew this. Her rebuttal was blank, and unaffected. "Cameron needs a hospital."

Pure rage slapped him across the face at the statement he knew he couldn't argue against. This time he could literally feel all of his foundations falling out from underneath him. The numbness on Cameron's face was too horrifying. He couldn't. He couldn't wait any longer— he was getting so desperate, that at this point, he was wondering if it would work if he just got up and turned fast enough for only  _him_ to get shot. He would take that bullet, if it meant he would be able to get Cameron someplace safely.

He felt horrible. But he extended the card out towards her. Scowling with enough hate to burn her on the spot. But even then, she didn't reach for it. Jonathan was smacked across the face again, when she just shook her head. She jerked it in a 'get up' motion. "No," she corrected. "You're coming with me."

" _What!?"_ Jonathan burst.

"Cameron didn't help me. The difference between him and you, is that I know you won't fail."

"I'm not going with you," he hissed.

"Then he'll die." She was running out of patience, just as fast as Cameron was running out of time. "You can either sit there and watch him suffer. Or you can try and get up, and I can just shoot him. Those are your only other two choices." She pretended to think for a moment, before she tilted her head to the side and mused: "Unless you want to prove to me you can catch a bullet. In which case, I suppose it doesn't matter  _what_ you do." Jonathan glowered at her, pure fury radiating off of him as he gnashed his teeth together. "I would make up your mind soon, Johnny," she hummed. "Cam's not looking too good."

His anger slipped off his face at once. The instant he looked back down at his brother, it was flooding with pain, instead. So severe and sharp that one might wonder whether or not  _he_  was the one that was dying. Everything in him was screaming at him not to abandon Cam a second time. To fight back— to do  _something._ But he couldn't even move. If he didn't go with her, he was stuck on the ground, and Cameron couldn't be helped that way. If Jonathan left, then an ambulance could be called. From there, if he knew that Cameron was getting helped, certainly there was something he could do? He could turn on her, he could grab the gun away? He could trick her— do  _something?_

It was hard to think, when all he wanted to do was scream over the fact that he was being torn from his brother all over again, when he had just found out he still had him.

Cameron came first. Jonathan could figure out what to do, second.

He felt his eyes burn when he opened them again; his chest felt like someone had pressed a burning hot iron straight into the center of it. He leaned down again, to press his forehead against the top of Cameron's head. His voice was thick and regretful when he choked out: "I'll see you again, Cam. I  _promise."_ Cameron didn't even react. Every noise of his was quiet, but each one still stabbed straight through Jonathan. All of his quiet whimpering and choking he couldn't control. For Jonathan, it was deafening.

He tried to put Cameron down as gently as he could. But the situation was growing increasingly urgent, and that made it difficult not to rush. Jonathan's hands were shaking and his heart was thudding. He laid Cameron on his back and stepped away. His brother was twitching and writhing, barely choking in any air by this point. His movements were getting weaker and smaller by the second. Jonathan felt like he was going to throw up, but he only allowed himself one last look at him before he was whirling around, glaring daggers at MW, who had now redirected the gun to him. "Fine, let's  _go,"_ he spat.

She reached out with one hand, still aiming the weapon at his face. "Give me the card." Jonathan only hesitated for a second. But he was through fighting. He extended it. Holding it out like this only made it all the more obvious that his hands were trembling. It was shaking like a leaf. He wanted to go  _now._ Fuck all this other stuff, the gun and the distrust when she  _literally_  had him on leash with this ultimatum. They had to  _leave_ so they could get help for Cameron.

There were tons of other factors. He knew handing her this card now would put Kay in a world of trouble, when it was used to steal the diamond. He knew that if he  _did_ manage to trick her or save the diamond in the end, he likely wouldn't be able to get the flash drive, too. But that if he helped her, the flash drive wouldn't even matter because he had helped her pull off the heist, and would be guilty of that, instead. Not that he wasn't already guilty of a ton of other things with all this mess.. But he  _also_ knew there was nothing to do about any of those thoughts, because at this point, he was just stuck.

He'd been beaten. Despair, disappointment, sorrow, and regret were all welling up in his chest.

But it was nothing compared to the panic and desperation he felt to save his brother.

He'd do anything for his brother. This included.

She reached out to take the card. To take the power of the situation in her hand. But right as her fingers closed around it, there was another earsplitting bang. It ripped through the air just like the first one had, and immediately, Jonathan was leaping backwards, flinching and gritting his teeth on the expected pain. She'd  _shot_  him— she was just fooling him, just toying with him, like she always did. Once he decided he wasn't going to join her, she decided to just kill him then and there. She'd shot him, and now he wouldn't be able to save Cameron, because he wouldn't even be able to save himself.

He braced himself for the pain…but it never came.

His eyes opened. His arms were raised and bent slightly, as if by covering his head he would be able to stop a bullet. He looked back up and went stiff in shock.  _He_ hadn't been shot, but MW was staggering hard to the side. She'd dropped the gun. The card she had been reaching for was lying on the ground right beside it. She was holding her shoulder, instead; Jonathan could see the blood that was welling up between her fingers.

Kay was sprinting; she ran straight past Jonathan, not even giving him a second glance. She rushed for MW. Before she had the chance to recover, she was tugging her arms behind her back and slamming handcuffs on her wrists. Her voice was steeped with anger. "You have the right to remain silent— anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to…"

Jonathan stopped listening. The instant he saw that Kay was getting handcuffs on her, he was forgetting all about her. He spun around, and his eyes zeroed back on the spot he had laid Cameron. He'd only walked away a few short yards. It had felt like a much longer distance, when he was leaving his brother behind. Now, it didn't take him long at all to rush back. To drop to his knees, ignoring the pain when he did. His breath was catching in his throat, his hands were flying up to dig his fingers into his skull. But he very quickly shook himself free of that as much as he could and reach down to him, instead.

"Cameron?" He did nothing; his eyes were closed. His head was lolled to the side, and even when Jonathan grabbed his face and gently re-centered it, he didn't rouse. The only sense of  _anything_ on his face was just pain. It was distant, and it was far away and only getting farther…but it was horribly apparent to Jonathan. Cameron was still stiff but he was more relaxed now than he was before, and Jonathan knew that it was just because he was losing consciousness. He was choking— it sounded like he was suffocating, or drowning, or a mix of both. He was going pale; he was spasming, his back was arching. He was suffering.

Jonathan's panic flared all over again. "Cameron— Cam,  _Cam_ , look at me." He cringed, ducking down to put his head down against his chest. His voice broke when he forced himself back up. " _Cam, please look at me,"_ he begged, sobs crawling back into his words now and fracturing each one. He started to put his hands underneath him again— gather him together and pick him up to  _actually_  stand this time. Sniffing as he did, he choked: "You're gonna— you're gonna be okay, Cam, you're— you're going to be okay it's—"

"Jonathan!" He jerked up. Dina was rushing to the two of them. She was crying. She fell to her knees too, and it was clear she had no idea which one of them she should focus on more, or which one she  _wanted_ to focus on more. But she shook herself and blinked a couple times, before she aimed all her attention down to Cameron, in the end. Put everything else aside. She gasped in a harsh breath. Her lips shook and she whispered out: "I called an ambulance; they'll be here soon."

"I don't— I don't know— I don't know what's wrong with him," he stuttered. He was choking and crying, and it was only getting worse when he forgot Dina completely and just focused down on Cameron. He stopped trying to pick him up, but he did keep moving him enough so that he could hold him close in his arms. He tried to be careful, but by now, there was just no telling if he managed not to hurt him, because there was nothing left on Cameron's face. His head kept lolling— he wasn't able to hold it up, or control it. "Cameron," he pleaded. "Cameron—  _please,_ Cameron, please look at me, or please just open your eyes." He didn't. Jonathan was breaking down. "Cam,  _please,_ just open your eyes,  _please_  just open your eyes…"

He waited, his heart skipping a beat as he double-checked. But white-hot panic grabbed around his heart when he looked back up at Dina with desperation. "He's not breathing— he's  _barely_  breathing! How long ago did you call!?" She started to answer, but he wasn't bothering to listen. He used his other hand to smack Cameron's cheek, struggling to get any kind of reaction at all. He smacked him, he rubbed his shoulder, he hugged him tighter, he did  _anything_. None of it was enough. "Cameron, don't do this— I'm so sorry, I should have stayed with you, I'm so sorry," he sobbed. It was all getting away from him, much too fast for him to try and reel it all back. "I should have stayed, I shouldn't have left you, I— I'm so—"

"He got away from me," Dina choked. He didn't look up at her, but something broke in his eyes as he bent lower over Cameron. "He got away from me, I was going to take him back to the hospital. He agreed— but he tricked me. I should have been thinking, I just wasn't, I thought he was too—" She inhaled sharply. "He drove away, I couldn't stop him, I— Kay guessed that he would come back here, since he'd already tried to go back to— we heard the gunshot, and— so we rushed here as fast as we could, but— but we should have been faster, I—" Her thoughts were going too everywhere to regather herself.

"I shouldn't have left you." For all his reaction, he might not have even listened to her at all. He just kept talking low to Cameron, who was completely still now. "I should have stayed with you, I shouldn't have left you— I should have protected you. It's my job to protect you and I just hurt you.  _Again—_ I hurt you  _again,_ I'm so sorry Cameron, I'm  _so_ sorry, please just look at me…if you look at me— if you wake up, if— I'll do anything, Cam, I'll say I'm sorry, I'll let you say that you're the older twin, I'll get you that stupid  _dog_ you've always wanted, please just wake up…please, Cam,  _please_ …"

He broke down and sobbed when Cameron didn't even flicker with life.

Kay came back to them. MW was forcibly dragged along, her arms locked behind her securely. She was absolutely livid, scowling at Jonathan like he was the bane of her existence. He wasn't looking at her, though. Kay was trying to keep in control of the situation. Her face was ashen and her expression stricken as she looked at Cameron; she couldn't turn away. But she still started to speak to Dina, trying to come up with some kind of direction. "Dina, you need to—" She couldn't get past these first four words, before Jonathan was interrupting her. Loudly. And desperately.

"Don't take me away," he begged. Kay was caught off-guard by the sudden and horrified pleading. Jonathan just shook his head, curling Cameron closer to his chest. "Kay, don't take me away—  _please_ don't take me back. Not yet." He sounded like he was going to be sick. "I know I've messed up, I'm not fighting that— I just want to stay with him, please don't take me away from him." He didn't have a filter anymore; he didn't care what anyone thought about him as he ducked down and cried into Cameron's hair, "I can't— I need to be with him this time. I need to be with him this time— at least let be with him when he—"

Kay said nothing. But her eyes were pools of misery as she looked at him almost mournfully.

He kept begging into her silence, hating what that silence was already saying. "Please— I  _know_ I messed up, I know— but please…please don't— please don't make me leave, please don't take me away from him, I have to— I want to— be there when— when— Cameron, I'm so sorry, I— please don't do this, let me— I'll—" He couldn't finish a single thought. He couldn't even really understand what he was saying in the first place, even. It was all noise— all swallowed up by radio static and too distant to hear.

He didn't know  _how_ long he kept going on like that— rambling and yelling, registering all of his words just as much as he would if he was deaf. He didn't know how long he hunched over Cameron, how long he felt his heart break over and over again at the dawning realization that he had gotten his brother back only to have him die in front of him all over again. That if he had just stayed with Cameron before, this wouldn't be happening— that  _still,_ all of this was on his shoulders. All of this was his fault. It was his fault that Cameron was hurt, it was his fault if he died, it was his fault, it was his fault, it was his fault, it was—

He was only dragged back when he felt Camron move in his arms. The second he registered the tiny shift, Jonathan was gasping, looking down with a jerk that seemed almost half-crazed. Desperate hope was ripping through him just as painfully as his despair had, and a smile started to break over his expression. But the smile turned to horror as fast as it had formed in the first place. Cameron wasn't moving because he was awake, he was moving because someone was taking him away. In his stupor, Jonathan hadn't even noticed that the area was now bathed in red and blue flashing lights. He hadn't realized that the ambulance had come. And he hadn't realized that for the past fifteen seconds, the paramedics had been trying to persuade him to let go of his brother. He hadn't responded, so now they were resorting to prying him away.

Rationality was out the window. The instant he realized that Cameron was being taken away from him he was yelling, struggling to keep him. "No wait, wait  _stop!"_ he screamed, his voice in absolute pieces. Someone's hands were on his shoulders, pulling him back. Someone grabbed his hands and started to peel them off of Cameron while another pulled him away. Completely unable to think, Jonathan was fighting them, screeching pleads and insults and everything in between even when it was clear he had no chance. Cameron didn't respond to any of it. Jonathan was horrified he'd already died and he'd just missed it.

But he wasn't dead; the man that was dragging him away was reporting back to the others. Information that Jonathan couldn't even focus on. He couldn't even hear the voice of the paramedic now holding him in place, as the other had abandoned him in favor of going to help. He was trying to calm him down; he was probably reciting a script he always gave frantic family members. The 'We're going to do all we can' and 'He's in good hands' and 'Take some deep breaths' that Jonathan didn't care about. He just kept watching Cameron, as they loaded him up onto the stretcher. He tried throwing himself forward, kept trying to fight. He kept screaming. Stuff he didn't care to listen to, either. Stuff that didn't matter. None of it did.

" _Cameron! Cameron! Cam! Cam, I'm so sorry!"_ Cameron was so lifeless, his arm fell down off the side of the gurney and swung there. The paramedic was quick to grab it and put it back over his chest, but Jonathan saw it anyway. He kept sobbing, incoherent with grief and panic. "Cameron!" he kept screeching. "Cameron, I'm sorry! I—"

"Jonathan… _Jonathan!"_ He jerked as he felt hands on his shoulders. Dina was crouching in front of him. Her eyes were tearful, but her expression was stern, and when his screaming finally cut off, she raised her eyebrows. "Jonathan." She was fighting to keep her voice level. "I  _understand_." Each word was slow. "I understand, but Cameron needs you to be  _stronger_ , right now." Jonathan was choking and gasping. His mind blank, he reached up to cling to her arms, his fingers curling desperately into her skin. In return, she just held to him tighter. "Everything has been such a  _mess,_ Jonathan. This entire thing has just been one big mess, and we're going to try and find a way out of it, alright? But you've  _got_ to calm down."

"It's my fault, I was— I didn't— I should have—"

"Cameron wanted  _nothing more_ than to  _stop you_ before it was too late. And to let you know he was okay. He did  _both_ of those things. It was a  _good_ thing he got here in time to stop you. This is  _good._  You didn't do anything. And Cameron is going to be okay." She weakened a little bit on the reassurance. Her eyes welled up again with tears. "He's going to be  _okay_ ," she insisted. "And now you're here, and  _you're_ okay." She smiled, running her thumbs soothingly along his shoulders as she tried to hold his gaze.

But his eyes were flickering towards the ambulance. "I need to go." Now, he could only whisper. Dina weakened. "I need to go, I need to go with him. Please let me go with him." Her face was already falling. He could already see the 'no' that was forming. His voice grew in its desperation. "Please, I know I— I won't leave the hospital, I'll stay  _right_ by him, I—" He realized Kay was still standing near them. Simply watching the entire scenario, MW still held in place. She looked just as agonized, but the expression grew in severity when he turned to her. "Kay. Please.  _Please._ Please just let me go with him. I—"

Everyone's attention was wrenched away when another car pulled up. Jonathan's expression wrote itself over with confusion, before the door opened and Mike rushed out. Kay must have called him. It looked like he was just as torn as Dina had been on what to focus on. His eyes flickered between Jonathan and MW as he rounded the car. "You got her!?" He smiled; it was a stark contrast against the glare that MW was shooting him. "That's great, I can let Deakins know. And…" His smile faltered, when he looked over at Jonathan. In his state, the discomfort on Mike's face didn't even rub him the wrong way. "You got Jonathan, too." This was said quieter. "That's— that's good, that's—"

"We need to get her in the car," Kay said flatly, before he could stumble over his words even more. He was grateful. At her gesture, he leaned over and took MW from Kay, turning back for the car. Once inside, he could call in everyone else, and Deakins as well. There would be celebrating. A whole lot of relief. Kay felt neither of those things, though, as she stood there. As she looked back at Jonathan to see him still crying, still shaking. Her eyes flickered up to the spot the ambulance had left. She wilted.

She looked back. Jonathan's head was hung. This was the second time Kay had seen him like this. Just like in the vault, he was a polar body. Frantic, horrified, remorseful. He was  _still_ shaking. Her throat felt hot. "Jonathan, you're coming back with us," she said dully. He cringed, severe disappointment and the smallest sense of anger clouding over his expression. Dina looked crestfallen, too. "You  _escaped_ — it's our job to bring you back to Rockland. So we will." Kay hesitated one more second, before: "I'm going to make sure MW is secure. You stay right here." Jonathan looked up, very slowly. Her eyes flashed. "You  _can't_ go after Cameron. He'll be taken care of at Saint Anthony's." This was said very purposefully.

Dina looked up, too. Kay glanced at her, before she went back to Jonathan. "We just found you," she added. "You don't want us to have to track you down all over again." His shoulders loosened. His hands fell away from where they were covering his face. His eyebrows pulled together more. He opened his mouth, starting to say something. But she was already turning and making her way back for the car. He stared at her a moment more, before he looked back down the road they had taken Cam. He looked at Dina, a question on his face. She seemed unsure. The ghost of that 'no' was still creased over her expression.

But the desperation on Jonathan's was enough.

Kay was only just rounding back to Mike when she heard Dina's car rev to life.

By the time she and the agent were looking back, only Dina was still there.

Jonathan was peeling down the road.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Cameron was smiling._

_Cameron was_ always _smiling. One time, he'd caught this horrible stomach bug, and he was constantly getting sick. Throwing up practically once every hour, at the very_ least.  _And he had_ still _been grinning, whenever Jonathan came in to check on him, lighting up the very second he saw him come through the door. He'd even choked a joke out right after he was through getting sick for the fifth time that day. Jonathan couldn't say he'd_ understood _what the heck he'd said…but he could grasp the fact that he had meant it as a joke just_ because  _of the way his brother had snickered weakly afterwards._

 _Cameron was always smiling, always trying to liven things up. Jonathan was sure it was because he felt like he had to. He knew his brother like the back of his hand. So he knew_ why  _he was always so happy. He was trying to make Jonathan feel better, he was trying to make their dad smile, he was trying to make everyone_ else _around him happy. Or like now. When he was just smiling because he was trying to force_ himself _to be happy. Jonathan saw Cam smile so much, he could tell apart every one of his grins. He knew his embarrassed smile, his irritated one. The smile he gave after he told a really good joke, or after he_ heard  _a good one._ This _smile wasn't any of those. This smile was weak, and tiny. It didn't reach his eyes._

_It was the smile Cameron wore when he was ten seconds from crying._

_He was on the other side of the room, just watching. That was his role, now. He'd practiced all night the night before to be able to do the new card trick in half his usual time. He had the shadows under his eyes to prove it. He'd been so excited to show their dad, to make up for the blunder he'd made a couple of days ago at the show. But he was still angry. He'd barely even blinked at the feat; Jonathan had watched Cameron crumble the second he hadn't so much as smiled. Their dad hadn't seen it at all; he was already turning away. Jonathan had done the smiling_ for  _him. Like he usually did. But he knew it wasn't the same. And he hadn't had time to even go over and say something to Cam – to congratulate him and tell him he did a good job – before their dad was calling him to practice separately._

 _Now, Cameron was standing there on the other side of the room, with that fragile little grin. Jonathan was standing across from their father, bow in hand. Sebastian stood a few yards away, and for now he had just set the apple on top of a chair with books stacked. It was the same height as he was. Jonathan had been practicing this trick for ages, and he was perfect at it, by this point. So far, it had only been books underneath the apple, but pretty soon it would be an actual person— his dad. If he was even a centimeter off, they'd be in big trouble. He'd said that this would be an amazing trick. That everyone had seen a father shoot an apple off his son's head, but_ nobody  _had seen a son shoot an apple off their father's._

 _Jonathan could kind of see why. Nobody really wanted a nine-year-old to have a bow. Or…nobody_ should.

" _Again." Jonathan jerked back to attention. He'd gotten distracted, staring at Cameron. His brother smiled even more, trying to be encouraging. But it was so weak and flimsy, it hurt to look at. His eyes were shiny. Jonathan looked back at their dad, his heart hurting, to see that he'd taken the arrow out of the apple and righted its perch. Jonathan had already hit it five times, now. Still, Sebastian didn't even crack a smile._ Why  _did he_ never  _smile? "Hit it five more times, perfectly."_

_He sighed through his nose. Shuffled his feet a little and stretched out his shoulder. He lifted the bow and pulled back another arrow. He paused for a few moments, taking careful aim. But it was muscle memory. Another second or two, and he let it fly. Sure enough, he got it dead center, in the exact spot it had buried itself a moment before. The arrow went deep into the wood paneling their father had set up behind it. Cameron's grin got just a little bit more genuine._

_Their father remained stony. "Again," he ordered, setting it all back up like he had every time before. Jonathan's eyes narrowed; his jaw locked backwards and he stomped on a bit of irritation. But he kept it inside. He just repeated the trick. And he repeated it again, when asked. Time and again, he hit every apple right in its center. Stepping to the side and forward and backwards when he was ordered to, to make sure he could hit it from anywhere. He was perfect. And he should be; he'd been forced to practice with it for about a million hours. It was second nature, now, to shoot an arrow. Easy as pie._

_The twentieth time he hit it, the very edge of Sebastian's mouth twitched upwards. He was satisfied, at least. He approved. Which was a reaction Jonathan wasn't at all impressed with, but he knew Cameron would absolutely kill to receive. "Very good, Jonathan." He just let his tired arms swing down. The compliment didn't really sink in the way he thought it would. It just bounced off. "You mastered the arrow quickly; I can tell you've been working hard."_

_There was a tiny pause, before he added more off-handedly: "Usually that drive is shared equally between you two. Nowadays, it seems Cameron has to catch up." Cameron's smile fractured with this. He kept it, but it weakened further. It became as breakable as glass, and his eyes teared up even more. Jonathan's heart tore again, more noticeably this time. He frowned, looking at his brother almost desperately. But Cameron just shook his head a little bit. Kept smiling, and clasped his hands behind his back, looking down at the ground because he couldn't keep looking at him directly._

_He looked back at their dad. "Cameron has been working really hard, too," he protested. Sebastian's lips pursed. "He stayed up all night practicing for you. He cut his card time in_ half _and you didn't even say anything about it— he was really excited to show you." Cameron looked at him, his face falling. Jonathan was furious to see that when his brother glanced at their dad, he looked scared. His voice took on more of an edge. "Cameron_ always _works really hard, and he's_ always _so excited to show you what he's practiced. He's got a_ lot _more drive than I do, but you_ never _say anything to him anymore."_

" _When I think one of you is doing a good job, I tell you, and_ only  _then." His voice was curt, and stiff. A silent warning for Jonathan to drop this before it went too much farther. "You're told you did a good job_ only _when you do a good job. You mastering a bow and arrow is exactly what I expect from you. Cameron isn't doing all of what I expect right now, and he knows it. He doesn't have a good work ethic, and when he_ does,  _he doesn't put it towards the right things." Cameron was staring a hole in the ground. Jonathan saw him reach up and wipe at his eyes. "That's why I've given this trick to you only, at least for right now. That may change later on, it may not; it just depends if your brother can match your diligence."_

" _He_ does,  _though; you're just not being fair!" Jonathan wasn't backing down. He refused to_ ever  _back down for Cameron. "Cameron's better at some tricks than I am! We're just_ different!"

" _You_ shouldn't  _be," Sebastian spat immediately, and Jonathan jerked backwards. "You two should be exactly the same, in_ every  _way—_ I _shouldn't even be able to tell you two apart. But I_ can.  _I look for Cameron's shortcomings, and the way he_ constantly _allows himself to get upset." He turned and shot a freezing look in Cameron's direction. He realized this in just enough time to straighten back up and force that painful smile back on his face. His lips were shaking, and his eyes were very clearly wet, but he was grinning all the same. Taking everything their dad was hurling at him and beaming. Because that's what he knew he wanted. It made Jonathan sick. "And I can tell you apart by the way_ you _constantly talk back," he added, looking back at him with a sharper look that Jonathan met with a scowl. "And by the way you make it your life's_ mission _to encourage Cameron by_ babying _him."_

" _I don't_ baby _him," he objected at once, almost even before he was through speaking. "He's my brother and I don't like seeing him upset; you make him upset_ all  _the time. He's your son but you're mean to him— you're mean to both of us." He said it all in a rush, before he could allow himself to rethink it. He didn't really want to take it back, anyway. He wanted to get it all out. "All he ever wants to do is make you proud, but you don't ever_ let  _him and it's not fair! You stuff him in boxes he doesn't want to be in, and you put handcuffs on him way too tight and just leave him like that until he can get out himself— he hurt his wrist this morning because_ you  _put the cuffs on too tight, and you haven't even done anything about it! You hang him upside down and even when he passes out, you just_ stand _there and—!"_

" _Jonathan,_ all _that I do is for the two of you._ Everything _I do is meant to make you stronger and better. It's when you two aren't listening that there are problems. It's when you two are_ ungrateful,  _that there are issues." Sebastian was now sharing his disdain and disappoint evenly. The only difference were their reactions— Jonathan stayed angry and indignant. Cameron was quickly crumbling. Suddenly, Sebastian rounded on Cameron, who immediately shrunk backwards. "Alright, Cameron." His voice was even, but somehow it was completely cutting, at the same time. "We can fix this right now— would you rather we stop?" A pause, before: "Cameron,_ look at me!"

_Cameron jerked and looked up the same second Jonathan yelled: "Stop! You're scaring him!"_

_Sebastian ignored him. "Would you rather we quit magic altogether? Throw away everything we've worked for up until this point, because you can't manage the work it requires?" Jonathan glowered daggers at his father at the unfair questioning. Discomfort was quickly crawling over Cameron's face and only getting worse. He was fighting not to cry. It was so easy for him to start falling apart the second Sebastian so much as looked at him sideways. "Because we can, Cameron. We can't do this without you._ Jonathan  _needs you to pull off these tricks," Cameron didn't look at him, but Jonathan saw his brother flinch at this, "so if you don't want to do them, he can't either. There's no show without you. So if you would rather not, we can quit right now. We can break the family tradition and find some other way to make money for food."_

" _No," Cameron whimpered._

"What was that?"  _Sebastian prompted harshly._

_Again, Cameron cringed. "N-No, I'm fine."_

" _You're 'fine?'"_

" _I like it. I like magic, I don't want to stop!"_

" _Maybe you and Jonathan can switch places," Sebastian snapped. "I can let_ him  _be the star instead. I've been waiting for you to shape up for a long time now— I thought you were the better one." Jonathan's heart sank unexpectedly, with this. His face fell, but Sebastian paid no heed. "I thought you the one who listened to me. I thought you were the one who could master the difficult tricks and be on top of everything. I've been waiting for you to get back to being that star again, but maybe it's never going to happen." Cameron was shaking his head, growing desperate. "Maybe Jonathan was always meant to be the one at the front. Maybe he'll_ disappoint  _me less. Maybe he wouldn't be as much of a_ burden."

" _I'm not a burden!" Cameron croaked. "I'll be good! I'll practice more, I'll work harder! I want to be the star for you the way you want me to be, I want to make you proud!" It was like he was begging for all of this. Jonathan just stared at him dismally, but he wasn't looking at him. Once again, it was like he'd just faded into the background of everything. "It's fine," he sniffed. "I'm fine, I'm happy. I'm really,_ really _happy." The reassurance was fractured and weak. And it only became more so when Cameron forced on that frail, twitching smile. The pain of it accentuated by the tears that had streaked down his cheeks._

_Sebastian glared at him a moment more, before he turned back. "There. See? Your brother doesn't agree with you." Jonathan looked back at Cameron, but Cameron was ducking away. His lips were back to shaking. Jonathan opened his mouth to say something…he had a few choice words. But he clamped it closed, choking on all his anger and resentment and bitterness. That only built when he realized now that Sebastian had turned his back on Cameron, he was hiding his face in his hands and crying. He could see his shoulders shaking all the way from where he stood._

" _I want this to be the last time we address this issue," Sebastian demanded. Jonathan forced his eyes back to him, so he wouldn't follow his gaze and see that Cameron was sobbing. If he saw that, then the situation would just get even worse. "Bringing up problems that don't even exist takes away practice time, do you understand?" It was so condescending…the way he_ constantly  _asked if they understood. The way he looked at you like you were five and trying to grasp an impossible concept like rocket science. "Your brother is already_ sensitive  _enough." The word positively dripped with derision. It made Jonathan's stomach curl with pure rage. He kept silent, though one eye twitched as he gripped the bow even tighter. "You don't need to be encouraging him by filling his head with nonsense. Do you understand?"_

_There it was again. Jonathan gritted his teeth so hard his head ached._

" _Jonathan. I said._ Do you understand me?"

_The one-word reply barely hissed its way out. "Yes."_

"Good.  _Now that all of that is out of the way." Sebastian only sounded inconvenienced. Which wasn't surprising. They'd gotten nowhere. They never got anywhere. They were always stuck in this cycle, and Jonathan could never see them getting out of it. It wasn't fair. He_ knew  _it wasn't. The anger he felt was like fire itching underneath his skin as Sebastian kept going, oblivious. "We're going to try taking it the step forward that it needs." Jonathan was hardly paying attention. He was so preoccupied._

Why  _was Cameron always just wanting to make their dad happy? Why didn't he see what Jonathan saw? Why didn't he see how horrible he was to him, and realize how he was using him? Dangling his approval like it was a carrot, and Cameron was a rabbit that was starving? Their dad_ knew  _that was all it took: dangling it. Then Cameron would try everything he could to make him happy, and he constantly did, so why wasn't anything ever right? He always just wanted more, more, more. There wasn't an end. This used to be fun—practicing and learning tricks and sneaking around. When had it changed? When had their dad started shoving Cameron inside of tricks, instead of encouraging him in? When had he started ignoring him? When had he yelled for every little thing? When had he started using trick as punishments?_

 _Or had it_ ever  _changed? Had it always been this way and they were just now getting old enough to actually see it? And was it going to stay like this? Was Cameron always going to be this unhappy? Always sick or injured because their dad didn't care about anything other than getting the trick right? Jonathan hadn't been exaggerating— this morning Sebastian had clamped handcuffs onto Cameron so tight that his wrist was bruising. It_   _had been hurting him for hours; he'd been hissing as he tried to force himself to practice around it._

_Was this all there was? Was this all they had to look forward to?_

_Was Jonathan going to be forced to see his brother cry and be miserable for the rest of his life?_

" _Jonathan!" He blinked fast, realizing that Sebastian had changed everything while he was too distracted. The chair and books were gone. In their place, he stood, with the apple on his head. Against himself, and all the bored confidence he'd had before when he'd struck the apple in the same spot over and over and over again, Jonathan felt his stomach clench at the sight he knew should have been coming. "It's the same height level. Nothing at all has changed." His voice was that calm monotone once again. "You've hit the apple perfectly for the past two days. I've full confidence that you're ready."_

 _He was silent, staring up at the target before his eyes dropped to meet his father's again. Sebastian stared at him with that same expectant look. The look he always had. The look Jonathan had memorized, and he was sure Cameron had, too. He didn't move. He was stuck on something. Sebastian's voice came even more barbed. "Jonathan, you're_ ready.  _Part of being a good magician is knowing when you're fully capable. Don't be like your brother and just_ stare,  _you_ know  _how I feel about that." Jonathan jerked. "The easiest way to fail is by freezing up and quitting before you even begin. Don't take after Cameron."_

 _Jonathan's stomach clenched again. His eyes flickered over to his twin, to see that his brother wasn't trying to smile anymore. He wasn't even looking at him. He was looking at their father, and Jonathan was almost winded by the look that was on his face. There seemed to be a lifetime of sadness in his eyes. Deep and regretful and bottomless. He'd been upset ever since the incident a few days ago. He tried to play it off and make it seem like it didn't bother him as much as it does, but he couldn't hide it from Jonathan. He saw the way he turned and wiped at his eyes, even when they weren't even doing magic— he was just_ that _upset with himself._

 _He'd seen the way his brother had tried to get their dad to even just_ look  _at him, or say_ something _, and how sad he looked when he refused every effort. He'd comforted him more times than he could count over this, but none of it was enough, and he knew it. Cameron was still sad. He still cried. He flinched whenever Sebastian so much as slightly raised his voice at him, or seemed to show any sign of disapproval, and his hands shook whenever he practiced ticks he wasn't comfortable with. He wasn't even eating, and when Jonathan commented on it, he just mumbled that he didn't feel good._

 _Now, he was staring at their dad like he was in actual pain, crying silently because if their dad knew he was doing that, he'd get yelled at all over again. His lips were trembling and his eyes were streaming— he was hugging himself like he wanted some kind of comfort but just didn't know how else to get it. Jonathan knew all he wanted to do was run away and lock himself in his room, so he could cry as much as he wanted, or as much as he felt like he deserved. It made him_ livid.  _Looking at his brother and how sad he was, when he_ knew  _how happy he_ wanted  _to be, and_ could  _be, Jonathan wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something, he wanted to_ do  _something to break this cycle they were stuck in._

_He looked back at their dad, who was quickly losing what little patience he had left. His eyes narrowed, and he drew his bow. He took aim, taking care in leveling the tip to the center of the apple. Just going through the motions. He closed one eye, to get a better look. His grip on the weapon tightened._

_He thought of how Cameron had looked so resigned when their dad had put the straitjacket on him. He thought of how he'd looked upside down, struggling and getting increasingly desperate and scared, before he just fell unconscious. How even when Jonathan had tried to help him by holding him up, Sebastian had just stood by and watched. How, after all that, when Cameron was clearly upset and shaken beyond belief, he'd_ still  _yelled at him and made it worse. How Cameron's voice had broken when he'd told Jonathan he didn't feel good. How ever since then Sebastian had been giving him the cold shoulder, and shoving him down when all he was doing was trying to pull himself back up into his favor._

_This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It was just the worst it's been so far._

_It wasn't the last time it would happen either._

_Was their dad going to keep hurting him?_

_What if one day it was too much?_

_Was he going to keep getting ignored and shoved aside?_

_Cameron was all Jonathan had. He was his best friend. He was his brother. He was his_ baby  _brother. Only by a few minutes…but Jonathan always felt the need to protect him regardless. That was what older brothers did, and Cameron_ needed  _him to. But how could he protect Cameron from their own dad? What was he supposed to do? The thoughts came and went, and it wasn't the first time they'd occurred. But now that they were back, suddenly there was an unexpected tug in the pit of Jonathan's gut. Suddenly his anger mounted. Suddenly his eyes narrowed, his blood boiled, his jaw set back…he thought about what it would be like if he aimed just a little lower. If…he hit somewhere_ other _than the apple._

 _If he hurt their dad, like he'd hurt them for years_.

 _Cam was_ stuck.  _They were stuck; they were_ both  _stuck, and this might change something. Just a little mistake would be all it took. Maybe Cameron wouldn't be yelled at anymore, or forced into tiny boxes. He wouldn't have anyone to breathe down his neck and dangle love in front of him, always out of reach. He wouldn't be blamed, or threatened. Or hit. He would be happy. Jonathan knew he would. And he knew he would be happy, too. The both of them would be so much better off._

 _If their dad knew how it felt to be hurt, maybe he wouldn't hurt_ them  _anymore._

 _But his eyes flickered to his brother again. He was still staring at Sebastian, desolately hopeful. And Jonathan wavered. He hesitated. …No. He couldn't. He had no idea why, and he knew it wasn't good…but Cameron loved their dad. He looked up to him; he wanted to be like him. The only reason he was so hurt by him was_ because  _he loved him so much. Jonathan couldn't do it. He couldn't do that to_ Cameron.  _Cameron was who he cared about. Cameron was who he wanted to protect. So he would._

_He abandoned the half-baked train of thought. He just watched numbly as the arrow struck home and buried the apple against the wood again. Sebastian smiled— giving Jonathan the one thing Cameron desired more than anything in this world, and the one thing Jonathan couldn't care less about. "Fantastic, Jonathan!" he cheered, actually sounding happy for once as he stepped back to survey his son's work. "Your aim is absolutely perfect, you got it straight in the center again!" Jonathan wasn't listening. He dropped the bow and started walking. Sebastian was still talking, mostly to himself. "If we get your muscle memory just right, we could add a blindfold to the trick…that would certainly up the danger…we would just need to…"_

_Jonathan went to Cameron. His brother was smiling, and at least this smile was stronger. He was beaming at his brother's achievement, ecstatic for him. "That was awesome, Johnny! I have no idea how you did that!" Jonathan said nothing. Cameron started laughing just a little when he said: "Forget_ me _. You're the Amazing Jonathan Black!" His voice was hoarse from all his crying. His throat was sore. But he was forcing it all down. Jonathan's heart ripped. "All your practice paid off! I bet the audience will—!"_

 _The second Jonathan reached him, he was grabbing him up into a tight hug. Cameron broke off, surprised and confused. "Hey— what's this for?" he choked, still laughing. Jonathan didn't answer. He just hugged him even tighter and ducked his head into his shoulder when he felt his eyes start stinging. Cameron was still for a couple seconds before he moved to hug him back. "You really_ are _amazing, Johnny," he gushed, quieter and more serious this time. Jonathan's chest was hurting so bad that it was a wonder he didn't just collapse right there. He was shaking. Cameron felt it, but he misunderstood. He only moved to reassure him. "I'm proud of you, you did really good," he added sweetly._

_Jonathan still didn't say anything. He just clung to his brother like he was hanging a hundred feet above the ground and Cam was the only thing that kept him from plummeting._

He made the drive in less than ten minutes. He slammed his foot on the gas and he never let up. He  _had_ to get to Cameron. He  _had_ to. He didn't know how long he had. He knew that Kay was already giving him more time than he deserved. He had to reach him before he ran  _out_ of that time. His hands were shaking so hard it was difficult for him to keep ahold of the wheel. It was hard for him to even remember where the hell Saint Anthony's was— the only reason he remembered was because Jordan had had to go there after he'd accidentally set his arm on fire, once. Only as a precautionary measure, of course. But regardless, he knew how to get there, and get to the emergency room.

He threw Dina's car into the first parking spot he saw. He was throwing it into park the very instant his foot was on the brake – the car wasn't all that happy because of this, but he'd apologize to Dina later – and clambering out the door. He hit the ground  _sprinting._ In the moment, he wasn't thinking about anything. He wasn't thinking about whether or not anyone would recognize him, or whether or not the police would be called. All he thought about was Cameron. And that was all that could get out of his mouth when he burst through the doors.

He ran past everyone in the waiting room. Didn't even give them a second glance. The person at the front desk roused the instant he beelined for her. Alarm was quick to flash across her face when she saw the state he was in. The only reason he stopped, practically, was by slamming into the work station. She opened her mouth, but he was already gasping over her. "Cameron!?" She blinked a couple times, glancing over her shoulder. But he was desperate. He hit the desk, startling her, before his hands went up to his head, to dig into his skull. "Cameron Black!?" He didn't realize he'd been crying this entire time, but now he was painfully aware of how congested his voice was.  _"Cameron Black, is Cameron Black here!?"_ he sobbed.

The poor employee was winded. She glanced back again. "He's— he would be—"

He wasn't going to wait. He took off in the direction she was looking. He burst through a door, on the other side of which was the actual emergency room. It was crowded. And  _busy._ Nurses and doctors were rushing this way and that. There were multiple rooms with beds, most of them filled. It was so busy that at first, he wasn't even  _noticed_ , despite his entrance. Everyone was just running and shouting, and it didn't take more than a second to realize  _why._ There were only one or two nurses that were lingering out on the floor. Everyone else was either rushing into, or rushing out of, the third room from the left. Everyone was shouting, their voices tense and urgent. Jonathan's breath caught the instant he realized, and the instant his eyes zeroed in to the room. He couldn't see who was inside, it was  _that_ packed with hospital staff.

But he  _knew_ who was there.

He  _knew._

Jonathan was frozen. Before he finally came back to himself enough to keep going. He  _wanted_ to run for Cameron, but somehow the message wasn't getting to his legs. He could only stagger, and trip. It looked like he was drunk. One of the nurses that was left to cover the rest of the patients for the time being caught sight of him and stiffened. "Sir?" He didn't react, he just kept stumbling. They rushed over, trying to plant themselves in front of him. "Sir, what are you doing?" Mindlessly, he just tried to move past them. They started to try and grab him by the arms. "Sir—  _sir,_ if you don't stop, I'm going to call security—"

" _Cameron!"_ Jonathan screamed, ignoring the nurse entirely. Their eyes flew wide. Another nurse that was in Cameron's room was running out to try and help, as he kept fighting them. It just made him scream more, thrash harder.  _"Cameron! Cam! Cam!"_ His name was the only thing he could scream. Naturally, all eyes went to him. Two people were hanging onto him, but sheer desperation was giving him the upper hand, somehow. Slowly but surely, he was throwing himself closer and closer to his brother.

"Sir!" Jonathan jerked, blinking the tears out of his eyes enough to see the doctor that stepped out of the room. They grabbed him by the shoulders, rooting him in place. Two he could fight against— three, he couldn't. He stopped, but he still stared desperately over the man's shoulder, to the commotion still taking place. The doctor was looking at him sternly but with a level kind of sympathy, at the same time. It was a practiced look, for sure. Just like their voice was trained to be steady. "Sir, I understand you're concerned,  _trust_  me when I tell you that this is  _not_ —"

" _He's my brother! I'm his brother, he's my baby brother!"_ Jonathan sobbed. He pulled against the nurses that were holding his arms. He got nowhere.  _"Please let me see him I don't have time I don't have time I need to see him he's my little brother!"_ He was almost crying too hard to be understood. He was incoherent, in his grief and panic. All he could do was yell and fight in vain.  _"He's my brother, you have to let me see him, you have to let me be with him, please, please! I'm begging you, just let me see him!"_

" _Sir,_ we are doing all we can, but I assure you, you are not helping by—"

" _What's wrong, what's wrong with him!?"_ he cried.  _"What's happening!?"_

"Your brother's condition is very unstable, he has a punctured lung and he probably is having complications with his heart; we  _just_ received him, but going by the report we got from the paramedics, that's what I'm going with." Jonathan was going numb. He was breathing fast— his head was spinning. At the doctor's words, he started to shake his head, only making it worse. The nurses realized that rather than holding him back, they were having to start supporting his weight, instead. He was getting less able to do it himself. His sobbing only grew more violent. "We're going to do all we can for him but we need you to—"

"His heart, he— he can't— plea—" Jonathan was struggling to see him. He just wanted to see him. He tried to take a step forward again but his knee immediately buckled, refusing to take his weight. The nurses stumbled, catching him. The doctor was saying something, but there was that radio static again. Jonathan wasn't listening. He just kept crying and shaking his head, his vision slowly going black the harder he hyperventilated. "Cameron, need to see— I need to see Cam I— IneedtoseeIneedtoseeCameronIneedtoseehim—"

"Sir!" The doctor's voice was flooded with alarm, now.

But it was too late. Midsentence, mid-beg to see his brother, Jonathan collapsed. His head hung low and his entire body went limp as the blackness slammed over his vision entirely. Everything else slipped away— the noise of the hospital, the yelling of the staff, even his panic and grief for his brother. It all left. And it left him with absolutely nothing, as he lost consciousness.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

_Cameron sniffed. Again._

_Jonathan heard this one like he heard all the others. Like he'd heard him every night before this one. He had tried to tell himself to just not listen to it. He'd tried to ask him if he was okay— time and again, actually. He'd tried to ask if he wanted to talk, or if he needed anything, but every attempt had been met with silence. It had only taken him a couple nights to realize that it was useless. To understand that he just had to pretend he didn't hear him, just like_ Cameron  _pretended to be asleep every time he had met the little sniffle with a whisper of: "Are you okay?"_

_They were at an impasse. Every little cry hurt Jonathan like they were punches, but Cameron was unresponsive. Ignoring it and eventually falling asleep seemed to be his only option. He knew that was what Cameron wanted. He tried thinking about something else. He tried covering his ears. He tried stuffing his head under his pillow. He could still hear him. It was still stabbing into his heart. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Cameron?" His whisper seemed to echo._

_The sniffling stopped. Absolute silence replaced it._

_Jonathan weakened. But he pushed himself up to sit. He narrowed his eyes against the dark, trying to see Cam. His brother was curled up on his side, with his back to him. He was completely motionless. But he wasn't fooled. "Cameron." It wasn't a question, this time, and he raised his volume. It was almost midnight; Dad was asleep, and if he realized they were awake he would be mad. It would 'mess up' their practicing tomorrow at eight. But he was upstairs. And Jonathan didn't care, anyway. When he still didn't reply, Jonathan pressed, his voice beginning to weaken._ "…Cam,  _I know you're awake."_

_Still, nothing._

" _Cameron, I know you're awake, and I know you're upset…I want to—"_

" _I don't want to talk about it." His brother's voice was strained and choked. It was hoarse, because his throat was so sore. And it was riddled with barely-held-in sobs, that would not be able to stay hidden for much longer. He was close to breaking down, and the only thing he wanted right now was to_ not.  _It took Jonathan off-guard. He sat there for a second, his heart ripping into two. His shoulders slackened, his face fell, his hands clenched. "Just leave me alone," Cameron whimpered, in the quiet that followed. Jonathan saw him curl the blanket tighter around himself and bury away more into his pillow._

 _It seemed final. Jonathan knew that Cameron wanted it to be. For a second he almost did give up. But he couldn't take another hour of laying there and pretending he didn't hear his brother's hitched gasps or tiny chokes. He turned and wriggled out from under his blankets. It was cold; the floor was freezing. But he ignored it, just like he was ignoring Cameron when he walked over to him. He stood at his bedside, his hands clenched in front of him as he stared at his back. "Cameron." He saw him curl up even more. Jonathan's face fell. "Cameron,_ talk  _to me…don't just—"_

" _I just wanna go to bed." He hardly heard him, his face was turned so far into the pillow. But Jonathan could still hear that he was crying, now. He could see his shoulders shaking. "Let me go to bed."_

 _It was a beg, but he wasn't begging for that. He was begging for him to drop this, and Jonathan wasn't going to. He just blinked a couple times before he turned and took a seat on the edge of his brother's bed. Glanced down at his hands and chewed on the inside of his cheek. He took in a couple of deep breaths, but his voice was still constricted when he turned and looked at him. "Cameron." He scooted closer and pleaded weakly: "Cameron,_ please  _talk to me. What's wrong?_ Tell  _me."_

_Cameron didn't uncurl. Jonathan abandoned his reluctance and stretched out to flick on the bedside lamp. It didn't offer too much light, but it offered enough. And from there he could turn and awkwardly crawl over to wedge himself in the small space that was between Cameron and the wall. It wasn't too comfortable, especially when Cameron refused to move. He kept hiding in his pillow, even when Jonathan finally got himself into a position where he could lay on his side, his arms having to tuck into his chest to fit._

_He laid there in silence, just looking at his brother dismally. His voice was gentler when he murmured: "Cam…" He heard him sniff again. "Cam, c'mon. You can talk to me— you_ always  _talk to me." This was met with just as much silence. But Jonathan relaxed when his brother finally gave in. Cameron moved his head so that it was resting against the pillow again, rather than turned away. Jonathan tried to smile, but it was hard. His brother's face was streaked with tears. His eyes were red, and his lips were shaking. Jonathan wasn't good at faking a smile like Cameron was. It quickly dropped._

_Cameron flinched and took in another gasp, looking down. Jonathan followed his gaze, and his stomach twisted when he saw that Cameron was holding his own arm gingerly. His wrist was black and blue. The bruises were painful to look at it, let alone probably feel. "Cam…" Jonathan's face fell. Cameron just kept crying. Whimpering in pain. They both just stared at the injury for a couple seconds, before Jonathan shook his head. "Hang on, I'll be right back." He started to worm his way out of the tiny space._

_Cameron let go to grab onto his brother's sleeve. "Wait—" he croaked. "If Dad sees you—"_

" _He won't, it's fine." Cameron was doubtful, but he shook his head. "It's fine, Cameron; I'll be right back, it's okay." He got his sleeve out of his grip. And, flashing him another pained smile, he scooted off the bed. He left their room, making sure to be careful and silent. He didn't turn on any lights; he just kept his hand on the wall and led himself blindly. He made it to the kitchen and found the fridge. He opened the freezer and had to search for a second. Eventually he found it though, and grabbed up the icepack and a towel that he could wrap around it. And he retraced his steps, to get back to his brother._

_He shut the door behind him and winced at the small click. But he crawled back in beside Cameron. While he was gone, he'd scooted over more. There was room for Jonathan to lay down comfortably. "Here, gimmie your arm," he murmured. Cameron swallowed hard and grimaced when he did. Jonathan took a great amount of care in putting the pack against the injury. He flinched immediately, a choke dying in his throat. Jonathan couldn't help but wince, too. But he arranged the pack so that it was against the worst of it. Once it thawed, maybe it could wrap around his wrist all the way. For now, this was the best he could do._

_Cameron slowly hissed out through his teeth, grimacing hard as he got used to the cold. Jonathan deflated with sympathy. "Does it hurt?" It was a little stupid of a question, but he asked it anyway. Cameron nodded. He was biting down on his lower lip and crying silently. Jonathan's heart squeezed. "I'm sorry, Cam…" Cameron didn't say anything. Jonathan kept talking to fill the silence. "Those handcuffs were too tight…Dad shouldn't have—" He broke off._

_Frustration and anger came over his expression. There wasn't a point to finishing that sentence. Because there were just_ too many ways _he could finish it. Their dad shouldn't have put the handcuffs on so tight just because he was mad at Cameron. But he also shouldn't have yelled at him. He shouldn't have snapped at him like he had before bed, yelling at Cameron for leaving a cabinet open, when really he hadn't even been in the kitchen at all that night. Neither of them had— they'd been in their room; they'd played Skipbo for hours, just because Jonathan was trying to make Cameron feel better._

_And it had worked. Cameron had been smiling. Until their dad had come in and started yelling at him for something neither of them had even understood. Of course, he hadn't listened when Jonathan had yelled that they hadn't even been out there for hours. He hadn't stopped until Cameron was biting back on tears and apologizing. Which was how it always ended. It had been a week and a day since the show where Cameron had messed up. It had been eight days since their dad had hung him upside down, and it had been eight days of him refusing to interact with Cameron at all unless it was to yell at him or to work on tricks._

_Their dad shouldn't have done a lot of things. Finishing that thought would take too long._

_Cameron's breathing was shaky. But it was evening out, now that the stinging cold was starting to numb. "I think…it's getting better," he whimpered. Jonathan's eyes flickered up to him at this. He clearly wanted to say something, but he bit it all back. He'd had the injury now two days, and it wasn't getting any better. The bruising was just getting worse, actually. It only got darker and more painful. He had no idea what had happened— if something was broken, if it was twisted, or what. But it was swollen and ugly and he couldn't imagine what it felt like. Still, Cameron kept sniffling: "It doesn't hurt as much…" The tears choking his voice and running down his cheeks seemed to speak against that._

_Jonathan just kept the ice pack on it. Until he broke the quiet with a tiny mumble. "I'm sorry, Cam."_

_He got the reply he should have realized he would. "You didn't do anything wrong."_

_So_ his  _reply was immediate. "_ You _didn't do anything wrong_ either _, Cameron." His brother wilted. Jonathan shook his head. "You haven't done anything wrong this entire_ time _. You didn't do anything wrong during the_ show _. You didn't do anything wrong with the straitjacket. You didn't do anything wrong to get him to put the handcuffs on way too tight— you didn't even do anything wrong to have Dad yell at you for that stupid cabinet. You don't deserve the way he constantly yells at you— it bothers you, I know it—"_

" _It's fine." Jonathan closed his eyes and breathed out hard. "I…he's just…I made him mad, I—"_

" _Cameron, you didn't_ do  _anything—"_

" _I just stood there, I disappointed him, I—"_

" _He's making it seem like the end of the world, he's making it seem like it's the worst thing you've ever done! He's yelling at you, and he's glaring at you, and it's not_ fair!"  _He was getting more and more upset. His eyes were burning and his voice was getting thicker. Cameron used his other hand to wipe his eyes. Jonathan was trying to swallow his frustration. But he drew the line, and took the ice pack away. The bedside lamp didn't offer a whole lot of light, but it offered enough to see the injury._

"Look  _at this, Cameron!" he hissed. He didn't, at first. But then he did. He looked down, and his expression broke. "Do you think you deserve this? Do you think this is okay? The only reason you have this is because Dad put those handcuffs on_ way too  _tight, on_  purpose, just  _so he could hurt you— how does that make any sense?" Cameron started to argue— started to say something about how the handcuffs weren't too tight, he just twisted wrong, but Jonathan didn't want to hear it. "Do you_ really _blame yourself for this? Do you_ really _think you deserve_ all  _of what he's done for the past_ week?"

_Cameron couldn't look at him with this question. He didn't say anything for a long time. Jonathan was going to wait, this time, though. He was staring at him, his eyebrows raised with disbelief along with a subtle beg for him to actually understand, for once. Eventually, he spoke. It wasn't anything more than a whisper. "I just have to be better." Jonathan's face fell at once. Disappointment and sorrow started to crawl underneath his skin. It looked like Cameron was going to say something else. Like he was going to say something more. Jonathan waited for it. But it didn't come. He just fell silent._

_Jonathan's eyes stung. He was trying to lean more into his anger, but he was starting to crumble. "Cameron, you're hurt," he pressed. Cameron still refused to look at him. "You're_ hurting,"  _he corrected. "I don't know why you_ take it.  _How long are you going to keep letting him_ hurt you  _Cam? How long are you going to keep blaming yourself?" Cameron's lower lip shook, but he still stayed mute. He still couldn't look at him. Jonathan was getting desperate. "How long is he gonna keep hurting you? Hurting_ us?"

" _He's not." The objection was whispered softly. Barely there. "He just wants us to be our best."_

 _Jonathan's heart was in his throat. Suddenly it took effort to breathe. He looked back down at Cam's bruised wrist, weakening as he put the ice pack back down. Again, Cam whimpered. Jonathan closed his eyes when he felt the words spill out. "I almost hurt him." He didn't see Cameron's reaction; he didn't want to. But he sensed it. He could picture the way he looked at him. He could mentally craft the expression of confusion, of alarm. He knew his brother too well to not be able to. He didn't want to keep going – he didn't even want to_ start,  _all of a sudden it was just_ there  _– but the words came anyway. Just as abruptly, and heavily. "Today. With the arrow— I almost hurt him."_

_It took a second for Cameron to get over his shock. "N-…No you didn't," he objected. Jonathan grimaced. "You were perfect, Jonathan, you didn't mess up at all. You weren't going to—"_

" _I wanted to," he blurted out. It shut Cameron up immediately. "Or— I didn't_ want  _to, I…just for a second, I…I thought that…" He took in a quick breath. The more he tried to explain, the more choked his voice got. "I_ thought  _that…if he got hurt, too, he would…know what it feels like, and he would stop hurting you as much. He was just yelling so much; he wouldn't stop, and you were crying, I just— I wanted to— I don't know what I thought I would do, but just— for a second, I— I just wanted him to stop, I—"_

 _He started to breathe faster. His vision smeared, and he felt tears burn down his cheeks. He didn't want to cry, but suddenly that was all he was doing. His explanation fell away from him and he just began to hyperventilate instead. He_ never  _did that. This was something Cameron did; Jonathan was always the calmer one, always there to help talk him down. But now he was losing grip of himself. Maybe it was just because it was finally sinking in, what he had almost done in that split second. Maybe it was because he was saying it out loud. Whatever it was, he couldn't stop it. He just kept falling._

_Cameron jerked, his eyes widening. The shock of it was enough to root in him place initially. But then he shook himself. He pulled his arm out from underneath the ice pack. He scooted closer, reaching out to hug him tight. The ice pack was wedged between them, but neither of them were noticing. "Johnny, you— no…Johnny, it's okay…" Jonathan kept crying. Cameron shook his head and held him tighter. "Jonathan, it's okay…you were just angry, you were just upset. And you didn't do anything! Right?"_

_Jonathan's fast breathing began to stutter. He sniffed and looked at him though his fingers. Cameron shook his head. "You didn't do anything, Jonathan. You might have_ thought  _of doing something, but you didn't— right? You knew it wasn't right; you didn't really want to do it. If you_ really  _wanted to do it, you would have. But you_ didn't.  _That's the important part. It was just a thought— that's all it was." He was looking at him earnestly, smiling. This was the smile that he wore whenever he was trying to take his happiness and inject it into someone else. Which he would always do; if he could give away all his happiness just so someone else could be happy for a_ little bit,  _he absolutely would._

_Somehow, that made Jonathan cry even more._

" _Johnny, people have weird thoughts all the time!" His voice was cracking on his own throat, and only getting worse the longer he tried to talk. "You can't control it. You were just mad. You were just upset. You're allowed to be upset. That's the only thing that matters though: you didn't do it." Jonathan just stared at him. Cameron got himself to smile more. "You were just upset," he repeated. "And that's okay. I have weird thoughts sometimes, too. Sometimes…" He hesitated before he just doubled back and repeated: "Sometimes I have weird thoughts, too, but I never do anything about them. So it's okay."_

_Jonathan sniffed. He finally hugged him back. His voice was muffled. "I just want him to see…how much he hurts you…"_

_Cameron shook his head. "I'm fine, Johnny. I promise."_

_He didn't see the point. He didn't understand. He didn't_ get  _it. He refused to change his mind._

_Just like their dad._

_Jonathan knew that pressing wouldn't work. If Cameron hadn't realized it yet, he wasn't going to realize it now._

_Maybe he just never would._

_Frustration and despair alike was coming to replace everything else. He abandoned whatever else he was going to try and say. He just forced himself to give a tiny nod. It wasn't much, but it was more than enough for Cameron. His brother lit up with happiness and relief. He hugged him again, squeezing tight. Jonathan just tried to ignore how heavy his heart still was. He sniffed, shaking his head a little bit as he moved to try and find the ice pack again. "You need to put the ice back on your wrist," he sighed. Cameron seemed skeptical he was okay again. But he didn't object. Just flinched again, when Jonathan reapplied it._

_His eyes flickered up so he could judge his reaction. "Does it help?" he mumbled._

" _A little," he whispered._

_Neither of them spoke for a while._

_Jonathan closed his eyes; disappointment welling up in his chest. Soon, it got to be too much. "I haven't taken care of you…" Cameron frowned, confused. Jonathan's voice was suddenly filled with remorse. "I'm supposed to take care of you. I'm supposed to make sure you're happy, and you're_ not.  _You're miserable, and I can't do anything to help you." He was starting to cry again. This time, at least he wasn't panicking. He was just weighed down with a sudden amount of sorrow. "I'm supposed to keep you safe and I've been doing an awful job— you're hurt and you're sad and I don't know what to do but I just miss you and want you back but nothing I do matters or_ works _because he just keeps…" He sniffed. "I'm supposed to take care of you, and I…I…" Sobs and sharp inhales started to cut him off. He couldn't finish._

" _Johnny…you don't have to take care of me, I—"_

"I'm  _the big brother," Jonathan interrupted, in another sob. "I'm the older brother— it's my job." He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn't know what to say. Jonathan was just staring down at his wrist. His voice was getting thicker. "You're the only friend I have but you're my best friend and I don't know what to do without you. I want to make you happy again— I want to keep you from getting hurt." His expression started to break. "I just don't know how to_ do  _that anymore, I haven't been doing that."_

" _Johnny, you make me happy all the time!" Cameron was quick to protest. He nudged his hands away so that he could look at him. He put on a smile. Jonathan could see it was one of his faker ones. "You're the best brother_ ever _. And you do so much for me. So don't cry. I love you." It wasn't a sentiment that was shared too liberally between them. They_ knew  _the other loved them— they didn't need to actually_ say  _it. But Cam was saying it now. "Okay? It'll be okay. I'll make it up to Dad. I'll be better." Jonathan wilted with frustration, but Cameron didn't notice the subtle reaction. "I just have to be better, and when I am, then everything will be okay again. It's just something_ I  _have to do. And I will."_

_Jonathan was silent. He just stared at him sorrowfully._

_Cameron's grin lost its strength. It barely had any in the first place. But he wriggled a little closer. He kept his right arm down between them, so the ice pack wouldn't fall. But he hugged Jonathan with his other one. Jonathan immediately hugged him back, ten times as hard, like he was worried if he didn't hold him he might disappear altogether. He hadn't realized until this moment how worried he had been over Cameron. Not until the words had burst out of his mouth. He needed to hug him now, not only to comfort him but to comfort himself. Cameron squeaked a little at the force but he quickly relaxed into it._

_Jonathan had to move so his chin was resting on Cameron's shoulder, so he could be heard when he asked: "What thoughts?"_

" _Hm?"_

" _You said you have weird thoughts sometimes. But you never do anything about them."_

" _Oh…" There was a small gap of silence. Jonathan wasn't too sure why, but this silence felt uncomfortable. It felt wrong, and…not Cameron. It felt like he wasn't sure what to say. It stretched on for some time. Jonathan was just about to repeat himself, in case Cameron just didn't get it. But then: "They're not important," he reassured, his voice sweet. "And I don't think them as much when you're with me." Jonathan frowned, his worry flaring again. He stared to ask what he was talking about, but he didn't get the chance. Cameron's voice was quieter, but it was still enough to make him listen when he asked softly: "Do you think you could…stay here? Tonight? …Just for tonight?"_

_He didn't need to think about his answer. "Yeah. I can."_

_Cameron sagged with relief. He shifted over to make more room for him, and Jonathan started to worm himself under the blanket. The bed was just big enough for the two of them. Jonathan couldn't remember the last time they'd shared a bed— that wasn't at a hotel, anyway. They used to do it all the time, when they were_ really _little. When one of them had a bad dream or was scared…that was usually Cameron crawling into Jonathan's. But Jonathan used to, too. When they were having so much fun talking and they needed to be closer and whisper, or else get yelled at. When he was feeling sadder than normal. The older they got, the less they did it. Now, they were almost ten. The trend was dying._

_But there wasn't any awkwardness or hesitation. Cameron wanted comfort, Jonathan wanted to know that his brother – at least for right now – was safe. So once he was under the covers he hugged Cameron again, and, with a tiny sniff, Cameron shifted into a more comfortable position. His wrist was completely numb by now, and it was a marginal relief. The rest of the relief could come from his brother. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath; it shivered on its way out just like he did. Neither of them made a move to turn the lamp off. Maybe it was because they wanted the light._

" _I just want him to see how great you are," Jonathan murmured after a while. His voice was still thick, still laden down with sorrow. Cameron didn't say anything. "I just want him to see that he's wrong. That you're enough." He felt his eyes tear again, but this time he didn't wipe them away. In order to do so, he'd have to let go of Cam. He didn't want to do that. "…_ I  _know that. Why can't he? Why can't he love you the way he's supposed to?"_

" _He_ does _," Cameron whispered weakly. "I know he does."_

"How?"  _Jonathan demanded._

 _Cameron hesitated. Before he murmured: "I_ know _. Just like how I know_ you _love me. I just do. I can feel it." He sniffed again. Shifted his arm a little underneath the ice pack resting on the injury. The injury that he'd gotten because of their dad. Just like some of the other injuries he got because their dad didn't care about anything other than the show. These thoughts flashed bitterly through Jonathan's mind, but he knew better than to voice them. He'd already tried. He just listened to Cameron keep going, his voice soft and a little sad, but somehow sweet, at the same time. "Don't worry. It'll be okay. I'll be better."_

 _That promise was_ stupid _. And it made Jonathan feel sick._

 _He hugged his little brother tighter, and he repeated his sentiment from days before, harder this time. Struggling to drill it into his head. "You're a great magician, Cameron," he reassured. He felt Cameron curl a little closer, like he needed to hang onto the words. "And I don't care what Dad says. You're good enough. You're_ always  _good enough. And you'll always be good enough for me. No matter what." He didn't get a verbal response. But he_ did _hear Cameron sniff. And he knew that his brother was crying again. He felt him shaking, and his heart caved with pain once again. But this time he let him cry. Maybe he needed it._

_He'd cried all night for the past week, Jonathan knew._

_At least now, when he cried, he would have someone there with him._

_So Jonathan just held him and tried not to cry himself. Tried to reassure himself into actually believing what he'd said. He wasn't bad— he'd just been angry. Of course he could never_ actually _hurt their dad. Even_ if  _he was treating Cameron horribly. …Right? Right. He wasn't a bad person. He just cared about Cameron. He just wanted a way out of this mess. It was the wrong way to do it. But he hadn't done it. Cameron was right— he hadn't done it, so it didn't matter anyway._

_He tried not to linger on it. He tried to just focus on the fact that he was at least helping now._

_He closed his eyes. Snuggled closer to his brother and settled more comfortably into the pillow. He held onto Cameron, taking comfort from the fact he was okay, and, at least right now, he wasn't alone. Cameron kept his uninjured arm slung over him, and he took comfort in the security that he always felt when Jonathan hugged him. Neither of them said anything. The only sound was Cameron's occasional sniff or gasp, but even those started to fade away. They both slowly fell asleep— a particular relief for Cameron, who hadn't slept much at all recently. It was easy to, in Jonathan's arms._

_And it was just as easy for Jonathan, in Cameron's._

Jonathan woke up slow. His head was muddled and the instant he opened his eyes he was grimacing away from the light that met them. A tiny groan escaped his lips, and he grimaced again when it hurt his throat just to make the small noise. His body felt like one huge weight when he started to move. It was as if he was dragging ten tons, just shifting himself. He started to try to sit up. But the second he did, there was a tiny tug on his arm, and a small clinking noise he knew all too well. Jonathan opened his eyes and turned, his stomach falling as they landed on the handcuffs that were locking him to the bed.

"Jonathan." He tensed and jerked around. He was still blinking away the fog that was clinging to him. Kay was standing a few feet away, Deakins beside her. They both looked grim. He realized he was in a hospital room. He was in a bed…and handcuffed again. Confusion was writing itself on his face. Kay explained. "After your panic attack, you collapsed. Apparently you were malnourished and dehydrated, too. Your blood sugar was fifty-four." He didn't know what that meant, and he didn't care. "You've been sleeping for a long time. It's six." His eyes flew wide. She answered the question before it was asked. "At night."

When he had gotten out of the car to meet MW, it hadn't even been three! "Cam—"

"Is okay." Kay's voice was weaker and softer. She looked pained. And tired. Like she hadn't slept at all. "He's okay. He pulled through." Jonathan let out a heavy couple of breaths. First, all he felt was disbelief. But then he laid back down, and a tiny smile started to twitch his lips up into a grin. It quickly grew, and his eyes filled with tears. He laughed a little bit…he likely would have laughed a lot more, if he could breathe around the sheer relief that was pressing on his chest. He didn't even bother wiping the tears off as they streaked down his face. His brother was alive. He had his brother back. He was  _alive._

Kay's stare was heavy. Her eyes flickered to Deakins before she began to hedge: "Jonathan…you have to go back to Rockland." Immediately, his ecstatic expression was leaving. His smile faded, and his eyes widened. He kept crying. But now it was for a different reason. Kay's voice was clogged with regret. "You did a  _lot…_ Jonathan. You broke our agreement when you ran. You have…multiple accounts of grand theft auto, you were in possession of a firearm that wasn't yours…you're in a lot of trouble." His heart was plummeting. He almost felt dizzy again. "We're…trying to talk to MW, but that still won't account for—"

"Can I see Cameron?" He didn't even care. He  _didn't._ Add ten more years— hell, add  _twenty._ He didn't give a shit, as long as he got to be with Cameron. And actually  _see_ that he was okay. Kay ducked her head. Deakins was stone-faced as ever. Jonathan's expression broke. "Please," he choked. "Please, I…I  _know_. I  _know_  I messed up, and I'll go. But please— let me see Cameron first. This entire time, I—" His voice cracked. " _All_  I wanted was to see Cameron,  _please."_

"I'm afraid we can't." Deakins' voice was flat. Jonathan's lips trembled. "We have to secure an immediate transferal to Rockland, now that you're awake and cleared to leave."

Someone was taking his heart and smashing it into a million pieces. He stared up at the ceiling in despair, tears running numbly down his cheeks. He wanted to fight. He wanted to kick and yell and  _scream._ But he knew there wasn't a point. This  _whole_ time he had been fighting, and where had it gotten him? It— "You owe him." Jonathan looked back up, doing a double-take as he realized Mike was standing in the doorway. His voice was almost apologetic, and it got even more so when Deakins turned and fixed him with a cold look. But he didn't back down. He looked at Jonathan, who was staring at him in undisguised shock. "You owe him a favor.  _We_ owe him a favor."

"No we don't," Deakins objected. "He's—"

"Solved cases that none of us could even begin to crack," Mike finished for her. Deakins soured. But she fell silent. "If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have even  _known_ about the Lynx diamond in the first place. Let alone make sure it wasn't stolen." Her lips only pressed tighter together. "He told us that Cameron had been taken by the mystery woman. He told us about Delvins. He even helped with those paintings in the museum." He paused for a moment, before he looked at Jonathan again. "He saved the lives of a lot of our agents, dragging them out of that vault Cameron got stuck in…including mine." Jonathan sobered. He looked down at his blankets. "And all he did was help us catch the woman we've been going after for months. The woman we  _know_ exists now, and obviously isn't dead." He shook his head. "We owe him. Just for a while."

She was silent. Her eyes flickered back to Jonathan. It was much harder to decipher her expression now. It looked as though she  _wanted_ to be mad. But she wasn't. He didn't know  _what_  she was, but at least she wasn't  _that._ Kay was looking between her and him, tense now. She didn't interrupt, and Deakins took her time to think. That desperate hope was back to sink its unforgiving claws into Jonathan's heart— it was there to snatch his breath away again. And when Deakins muttered eventually, she may as well have smacked him over the head with another burst of it. "We  _can't_  just let a convict walk around a hospital."

Jonathan was speaking almost before she was through. "You can handcuff me to  _his_ bed." His words were gasped. He couldn't believe she was even entertaining the idea. Yet here she was, on the brink of agreement, somehow. "You can have someone there— I won't even get up, I won't get up  _once."_ She was pursing her lips again.  _"Please."_ He wasn't above begging by a long shot.

She was silent again. It was agony to wait it out. Until she ducked her head and looked back at Mike. " _You'll_ watch him," she ordered. "You  _both_ will. Along with the guard— and he'll be  _in_ the room, not outside of it." The two agents nodded. Jonathan couldn't even breathe, he was so in shock. She hesitated before she said curtly: "You won't have long. You'll still need to be discharged beforehand."

He nodded fast. "I know. Thank you." Tears choked his words. Deakins' eyes flashed and she had to look away. Mike opened the door, and a guard Jonathan recognized from Rockland was brought in. Deakins explained that he was going to stay— she was saying something that sounded a little better than what Mike had said, to wiggle around rules, but Jonathan was distracted, accidentally catching Mike's gaze. They stared at each other for a while, like they were both unsure. Jonathan swallowed hard and mouthed a silent 'Thank you.' Mike smiled at him. Jonathan looked down in just enough time to see the guard unlock him.

Of course, for the walk to Cameron's room, the handcuffs were put on both wrists. But Jonathan didn't mind, for once. Getting up was a little shaky. His head was still spinning. But he steadied himself, took a couple of seconds, and then was ready. Mike started out— Jonathan walked behind him and in front of the prison guard, sandwiched. They would need to go through the discharge process before Jonathan could go up to the other floor. Kay was about to follow, when Deakins stopped her. "Agent Daniels."

She practically winced. But she turned all the same, keeping herself composed. "Yes?"

Deakins eyed her. "I took you off this case," she reminded. Kay nodded once. "…Yet you still made the arrest." She hesitated. But nodded once, a second time. Deakins nodded as well. There was a brief period of silence. Before she was murmuring: "I should…apologize. To you." She perked in confusion. "I wasn't listening to you, before. I…assumed I knew best. But I should have listened. Just like with Cameron, when you first brought him to us."  _He brought_ himself  _because he's an obnoxious idiot._ Kay decided to keep the opinion unvoiced. "I was rash, in my words. And in my actions. Ultimately, you did know the situation far better than any of us. You  _and_  Cameron. So…I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Kay returned. "Thank you. For saying so."

"You'll…tell him, for me? That I…regret all that I said."

"Of course."

Deakins nodded a couple of times. Her eyes flickered towards the hallway. "He is still in trouble," she warned. "He has a lot to answer for." Her expression flashed again. She clasped her hands tighter in front of her. "But Agent Alvarez has a point. Though  _not_ a very strong one. I can't buy him all the time in the world. Especially with the new charges he'll receive." Her heart sank. But she nodded again anyway. "I'll try and…" She'd started to make some sort of promise. Kay's forehead creased when she stopped short, though. She just took whatever it was, back. And offered as a parting: "Good job. To both of you."

She felt a warmth in her chest, and a pang of relief. She left to join the others.

The discharge process was rushed, because Jonathan couldn't even pretend he gave a single fuck. He just did a whole lot of nodding and signing and the very second he was able to – and the very second the trio surrounding him kicked into gear – he was racing for the elevator. They went up to the fourth floor. The ICU was just as silent as every other one seemed to be on planet earth. A couple people eyed him with his handcuffs, but he didn't care. Cameron was in room 4027. He was just focusing on that. And when he got there, he knew without a doubt that he would start crying all over again.

Everyone was there. Dina and Gunter and Jordan— they were all in the room, and they all  _lit up_ when Jonathan entered. Jordan was hopping up and down like he was on a pogo stick, and Gunter clapped a hand on his shoulder. Dina smacked the back of his head – actually really hard, it  _hurt_ – and called him stupid, but then she was hugging him. He hugged her back just as hard. But, regrettably, he was moving on from them. When he hugged Dina, he could look over her shoulder and see him. Once he did, he was separating himself from her and stepping around her, towards the bed.

Cameron was asleep. He looked small. He was wearing an oxygen mask that fogged with every exhale. He was pale and there were a lot of wires and tubes he was hooked up to. He didn't look as bad as he had after he'd fallen doing that stupid trick he'd insisted on. But Jonathan's heart still clenched at the sight. There was a chair pulled up right to his bedside, near his head; Jordan had been sitting there before, but Jonathan took it now, not even really noticing. He just looked at Cameron numbly, tears burning his eyes. The guard stepped over to lock Jonathan to one of Cameron's siderails. The team glared at him when he did, but Jonathan didn't even glance at it. He just whispered out a tiny: "Cam?"

For a second, he thought he would wake up. He twitched a little bit. But no; he stayed asleep. Dina sat down on the end of the bed, in a space he wasn't taking up. "He's woken up a couple of times," she said, Jonathan stiffening. "He's in and out." Thankfully, she was giving the run-down before he even had to ask. "But he's doing well. We were afraid his heart would stop again…but it didn't. Though it came close. The doctors say it was a…blood clot, from when his heart had stopped the  _first_ time, probably. And thanks to the fact he  _refused_ to lay down and  _insisted_ on  _falling_ all over New York City…one of his broken ribs punctured his lungs. But…they're taking care of that, too."

Jonathan weakened. He searched Cameron's face, finding nothing there. At least he looked serene…not in pain. But still. "I'm sorry." He didn't know whether he was telling that to Cameron, or everyone else. It probably didn't matter. "I'm so sorry, I…" There weren't a whole lot of words. Or there weren't a whole lot of words that would be  _good_ enough. Dina reached over and put her hand down on his; she gave him a reassuring smile. He tried to return it, but it was fairly weak. He just looked back down at Cameron, a million things seeming to be right on the tip of his tongue. None of them came out.

The hours passed oddly quickly. Jonathan was just thankful for each one he was extended. Though he was waiting with bated breath for Cameron to wake up, he was also enjoying the fact that he was back with the team again. He was relishing the fact that – save for the fact he was cuffed to the bed – everything seemed normal again. When he had fully accepted the fact that he would  _never_ be able to have this again. Gunter told Jonathan about all the stupid stuff that Jordan and Cameron had been up to recently, and claimed that he was close to committing a robbery just so could be arrested too and have a 'brighter' set of company. Jordan told jokes that Cameron had taught him, and Dina made sure that Jonathan was alright and didn't need anything. Kay and Mike were more on the edge, though Jonathan noticed how much they were fitting into the magic family already. Just like he noticed the looks that were exchanged between Dina and Mike. Though, given the moment, when it came to him, Jonathan felt nothing but gratitude.

They all talked in whispers, giving Cameron the opportunity to rest as much as they could. It was in the middle of a very long-winded story by Jordan (it wasn't a Jordan story unless it was long-winded) about a 'pickle jar incident' in Whole Foods, when Jonathan heard a noise from Cameron. And, not that pickle jar stories that take place in Whole Foods aren't  _wildly_  thrilling, he was immediately snapping around to look down at his brother. Sure enough, his head was shifting on the pillow. His forehead was creasing, and he was beginning to cough weakly. He was coming back around.

"Cam?" Jonathan's voice was openly desperate. Cameron's forehead creased more. His eyes started to open. Jonathan beamed when he saw the flash of blue, and saw them open more and more. They were dull and a little out of it, but they were  _Cam's._ They were something Jonathan had thought he'd never see again, too. All of this was, and he still felt like he was in some kind of dream. But if he was, then he didn't want to wake up. "Cameron?" He blinked a couple slow times, before he let his head fall towards his brother. It took a second for him to focus on him. Jonathan leaned a little closer. "Are you awake?"

Cameron's eyes closed again. Jonathan gripped the railing, thinking he'd fallen back asleep. When he saw his brother's lips move ever so slightly. He heard a whisper, but underneath the hum of the oxygen, it was impossible to hear him. Jonathan leaned even closer. "What?" he asked. Cameron's lips twitched again, but again, he couldn't hear. He was practically bending over him now, his ear as close as he could get. Everyone else was watching tensely. "Cameron, I can't  _hear_ you."

This time, he raised his voice enough. His words were muffled behind the mask he wore. But he breathed them out all the same. "Your hair looks stupid," he sighed. Jonathan jerked, straightening fast and looking at him. Cameron's eyes opened again, and when he saw the look on Jonathan's face, a weak smile traced over his face. It sounded like he was even trying to  _laugh._ The sting of surprise and confusion melted instantly when Jonathan saw this. That beam was back— it almost hurt his face, it was so big.

"You— …you—" He was struggling to say anything. Cameron's laugh was a bit more noticeable this time. Jonathan sat back down, scooting his chair closer even though it was relatively impossible. "You  _dick!"_ he snapped, and Cameron's smile was full-blown by now. Jonathan was crying again. It was obvious enough in his voice. "You're an  _asshole,_ Cameron, why are the  _first things you say to me_ insults?" Cameron could only get his eyes about halfway open, and he still seemed groggy and exhausted. But he was still grinning at Jonathan. Even with the oxygen, he could see it, and it tore his heart into two. "You know, I'm—" He tried to clear his throat. "I'm glad you didn't die, Cam, 'cause now I can kill you myself and I'm  _going to."_

Cameron's eyes drifted closed again. Jonathan hardly heard his: "I'd like to see you try."

He fell silent, and softened when he did. Nobody else was making a move to speak. They were giving them this moment. But as the silence stretched on, Jonathan's smile was fading. His lips were shaking too much to keep it there. Cameron was forcing open his eyes again and Jonathan was swallowing hard, breathing a little louder as his own burned. "You—" Cameron looked at him, waiting. "I—" Jonathan couldn't get anything out. He leaned over, propping his head up on the mattress and staring at Cameron dismally. His lower lip shook. Cameron started to wilt. And before he knew it, Jonathan was sobbing. In front of everyone, without hesitation or thought. He was crying, bending low over his brother.

"I thought you were dead!" he wailed, the tone of voice heartbreaking. Dina and Kay both looked away at it. His shoulders were shaking with the force of his sobs. "I thought you were dead, I thought I lost you! I thought I lost you, Cam, I— I didn't know what to do! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I—" He couldn't get out anything else. He just kept crying and gasping. Cameron flinched. But he dragged one arm up, ignoring the agony in his side as he reached up to wrap it around Jonathan's neck and pull him down. He didn't have a lot of strength to do it, but Jonathan realized what he was doing and he was all too quick to comply.

Jonathan bent low, his forehead pressing against his brother's chest. Cameron hugged him down with that one arm, only able to lift his other enough to get a hand on his back. Jonathan moved and hugged him back, carefully, around everything that was in him, and gently, for his injuries. He wanted to squeeze him tight. He wanted to make sure he was real, make sure he was there. He wanted Cam to hug him so hard it  _hurt_ , so he could make sure it was reality.

He would do all of that later.

For now, he just hugged his brother and sobbed into him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It was  _fake?"_ Jonathan demanded. "The card was  _fake?"_

"Of  _course_ the card was  _fake,_ Jonathan— you think I'd actually  _have_ it?" Cameron demanded. His voice was still soft, and weaker than normal. He wasn't supposed to be taking his mask off, but he was to talk. If the nurse came in, she would be livid. But there were risks he was willing to take. It was late at night. Cameron had slept a couple more hours and when he'd woken up again – about an hour or so ago – he was much more with it. Thank God. Jordan had gone out to try and see whether or not he could steal any more ice cream, or whether or not he'd eaten the entire floor dry of it. Gunter was asleep in the recliner in the corner…according to Dina, he had hovered over Cameron like a mother hen ever since they'd gotten there. Hadn't slept a wink.

"Kay would give me her hand in  _marriage_  before she'd give me her card. I made a copy," Cameron continued, flashing her a look where she was sitting on the bed. She'd taken Dina's spot, who had gone to the archive to pick up some clothes and things for them, closely followed, of course, by Mike. Apparently everyone was staying the night with him. Jonathan could only wish he had that luxury. At his joke and his look, Kay smiled and rolled her eyes. Her expression was oddly fond. "Fooled her with a fake diamond,  _started_ to fool her with a fake card…" He grinned blearily. "Obviously 'smarts' aren't a standard for you when it comes to women."

" _Shut up_ , Cam," he snapped. Cameron beamed. Jonathan was quick to smile, too.

Cameron put his oxygen mask back on to catch his breath. He was wheezing a little, and breathed until most of the pressure on his chest was gone. His eyes flickered over to the corner, where the guard was still sitting. He'd been like a statue the entire time. Cameron gestured to him. " _This_ guy seems really fun," he commented, and Jonathan laughed— much more than he usually would have. Just because he was so relieved to hear Cameron say something so  _stupid._ So  _Cameron._ The guard didn't even react to the jab, and Cameron made a face. "I can tell it's just one big  _party_  over there, I feel left out." Jonathan's smile was fading when Cameron looked at him again. Cam's did too. He asked softer: "When do you have to leave?"

He didn't respond at first. "…I don't know," he mumbled eventually.

Kay deflated with something akin to guilt.

"We have MW," Cameron offered. "She could clear your name…or…we could get the flash drive."

Jonathan's smile was pained when he offered one. "Doesn't matter," he reminded in a whisper.

Cameron wilted. He searched his brother's face. "It's not fair…there has to be a way around it." Jonathan shrugged. "It's…it's not even fair because we shouldn't have even been in the situation in the fist place. It's… _circumstantial_ , isn't that a thing? Doesn't that matter?" He shrugged again. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to enjoy the time he had left, however long that was. "I promised I'd get you out…" Jonathan was shaking his head, starting to argue. Cameron kept going, not listening. "I'm doing a horrible job." He hesitated, before he looked over to Kay. "Is there  _anything_ we can do?"

She seemed at a loss. "I…I don't know, Cameron."

"He can help more," he tried weakly. Jonathan listened with a heavy heart. "If  _I_ can help you guys, think of how much Johnny would be able to help you. You could  _use_ him; can't you bargain for that? You've already brought him out of jail once because you need him— why can't you just say you need him all the time?" She said nothing. She looked thoughtful, but not at all sure. "Why can't he stay here and work with us instead of being in there? We  _called_ him at the museum, I  _load up_  all the evidence and take it to Rockland when I need to, when photos aren't enough—" His voice was getting thinner and thinner. He had to put the mask back over his mouth and breathe deep a couple times. Or, as deep as he could manage. Jonathan hovered, clearly worried for him. Kay saw this and it just made her feel worse.

"When photos aren't enough sometimes," he croaked, once he got at least a little of his wind back. "And I visit him sometimes  _twice_  a day just to ask him about cases. Kay, if Jonathan hadn't been in prison,  _I_  wouldn't have been kidnapped. We could have skipped this whole thing— doesn't that say enough?" The added charges threw a wrench in everything, probably. Not that this situation didn't already have fifty-thousand wrenches in it. "It's something we can  _work with, at least,_ right? It's  _something?"_

She was hesitating, clearly uncomfortable. "I…" She looked at Jonathan. She didn't want to get his hopes up again. Already, it was killing her to know that he would have to leave Cameron worried sick. She didn't want to know that he had to leave worried sick and desperately hopeful for no reason, at the same time. "I can look into it, but…" Unfortunately, Cameron was all too willing to take this and run with it. Which she should have figured, as optimistic as he is in general. Annoyingly so. "But I don't know how much leeway we would have," she warned anyway. "It…it might make sense, but it might take a lot of fighting, Cameron."

"I don't care," he said immediately. Jonathan weakened. He turned his head back and looked up at him. "I'll fight as many people as I have to, for as long as I have to," he promised. "I'm  _getting_ you out. One way or another, I am." Jonathan's eyes welled at the promise. At the vow so readily given and so confident, even though he had to breathe into his oxygen mask right after. He was exhausted and weak but he was still thinking about him. Still thinking about someone other than himself. Just like he always did. He was concentrating so much on the fact, he almost didn't hear Cameron when he added: "Besides…we know how this'll go."

Jonathan smiled a smile that contained absolutely no happiness. "She'll get away."

"And she'll go after the diamond," Cameron agreed.  _"You're_ going to be out here when she does. With  _me._ So we can stop her.  _Together."_ This was said with all the conviction he could muster. Kay's eyes flashed as she looked between the two of them, with a large amount of thought. But she kept quiet, giving them their privacy. "I've let you sit in that prison for a year, Johnny. I've  _missed_ you for a year— we all have. You're going to get out soon, I don't care how. But I promise, I'll figure something out."

Jonathan smiled. He was silent. He stared at his brother and just felt his throat get hotter and hotter. Watched as his vision smeared. It was all tempting. It was tempting to take this reassurance and cling to it and focus on it. Drag himself out of all this and get realigned again to get back to the goal at hand. But he didn't want to— not just yet. He was too happy to be sitting here. He was too relieved to hear Cameron's voice. He could focus on everything else later. At least for right now, nothing else mattered than the fact he was right here. That somehow, he had gotten here. That even though he was crying again when he hated to cry, it wasn't because he was wracked in guilt and grief. It was because he was so  _happy._

"Thank you, Cam," he whispered eventually.

Cameron made a face. "I didn't do anything yet," he argued.

Jonathan shook his head. "Yeah, you did." He didn't offer any explanation. It ended there. But it was okay, because the meaning was clear anyway. At least, it was to Cam. He softened and smiled, relief of his own leaking into his expression. Jonathan leaned down, ignoring the tension on his wrist as he stretched down to hug Cameron again. This time holding him close and keeping him there. Still, Cameron could only move one arm really well. The other hurt more. But he returned the embrace as best he could, ducking his head into him a little.

They stayed together, neither of them moving and neither of them wanting the  _other_ to move.

Because after all of this mess…all they wanted was the reassurance that their brother was there.

That their brother was okay.

" _Do you think it'll always be like this?"_

 _Jonathan had been laughing. He'd been laughing for nearly an hour straight, just like Cameron had. Their dad was gone— he'd been gone for ages. He'd warned on the way out that he might not be back until late, and it seemed as though that was going to be the case. It was going on nine and he still wasn't home. That was_ just _fine with Jonathan. They'd had a fun day— one without any yelling or cold looks or, guiltily_ only  _on Cameron's part, practicing. They'd played games, and they had a contest to see which one of them could run around the entire archive the fastest. They had scavenger hunts and Cameron had pretended to be interested when Jonathan had shown him some of his favorite books and explained the plots in excruciating detail._

 _They'd made dinner— even though it was just reheating something, and there were only about two steps to the entire process, they were very much still proud of themselves. And_ now  _they were_ baking.  _Or trying to, anyway. Cameron had found the box of cake mix, and of course he had been the one to suggest they try their hands at being culinary geniuses. Jonathan was more than happy to oblige. All day today, Cam had been smiling and laughing and actually having fun. He was his old self again, without their dad there to make him anything but. It was so relieving for Jonathan, to be annoyed by him again instead of horribly concerned. He'd do anything to keep the smile on his face. So, cake it was._

 _Or, cake it was_ trying to be.

 _They hadn't burned down the house. Which was good. But they_ had  _gotten flour_ everywhere.  _A lot of it was on Cameron's face for some strange reason; Jonathan was certainly innocent, of course. He'd started out very serious— he'd snapped at Cameron to concentrate so there wouldn't be any eggshells in the bowl, and to stir faster so that there wouldn't be any chunks in the mix so it would look pretty and smooth when it was done. Cameron had responded by sticking his finger in the batter and poking Jonathan's nose._

 _So quickly, he'd caved, and they'd both just started goofing off. It was a miracle nobody got burned from the oven. There were a few close calls. Cameron had been trying to see whether or not he could juggle three eggs. Very rapidly, he had found out that he could_ not.  _He'd gotten it for a couple of seconds, but then he'd dropped one on the ground. Once he had, he'd stumbled, tripping and running into the wall and splattering one of the other eggs on his shirt. Jonathan had started laughing so hard his eyes had started to water. Cameron, pretending to be horribly stung, had taken the last egg and smashed it on his shoulder._

 _Jonathan had been laughing so hard he almost hadn't heard the question. When he did, he perked, his smile staying but weakening a little. "Huh?" he giggled. But his laughter was quick to die. His smile turned into a thoughtful frown. Cameron wasn't grinning anymore. He was looking at him…almost sadly. Or maybe not sadly, but…self-consciously? "What do you mean?" he asked. Cameron was hesitating. Jonathan turned and surveyed the mess— all the bowls and flour and sugar and now egg yolks that were everywhere. He offered, teasingly: "I sure_ hope  _not. Dad'd have an aneurysm."_

" _No," he protested. Jonathan looked back at him, befuddled. Cameron was still looking at him weird. But it was even weirder when he just looked down at his feet, weakening more. Jonathan chose to give him whatever time he needed to figure out what he was going to say. Sure enough, it took him a bit. "Will…_ we  _always be like this?" Jonathan's puzzlement was gradually clearing. "I mean…you know, I…I don't know how long we'll do…all_ this,  _you know?" He looked at him anxiously. "I don't know when…it's gotta stop_ eventually,  _right? Not…not_ yet,  _and not for…maybe not for a long time, but…sooner or later…right?"_

_Jonathan shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." Cameron looked apprehensive. "Why?"_

" _It's just…" He looked back down. "Do you…think…_ we'll _…stay like this? Even…even if the show ends…" There was a very long silence. Jonathan's face was falling now that he understood. Cameron took in a quicker breath, keeping his eyes down. "Even if the show ends, and we don't do…_ this  _anymore…do you think we'll still…be like_ this?" _Jonathan said nothing. Cameron's apprehension was only multiplied on itself. "Do you think it'll stay like this?" he repeated. "Between us?"_

 _The only reason Jonathan took a while to reply was because he was so confused as to why the question was being asked in the first place. "Of course. Yeah, of course it will, Cam." Cameron seemed unsure; he stared at him, his face flooded with doubt. Jonathan smiled. "No matter_ what  _happens, we'll_ always  _be like this. Nothing is gonna change that. Ever." He leaned over and poked him in the chest, like he'd done to his nose. "We'll always stick together. Without_ me,  _you couldn't find your way out of an empty room." Cameron cracked a small smile. It was still a wary one. "And without you…" He trailed off a second, thinking. His smile turned softer. "Without you, I don't think I'd have too much of_ anything."

 _Surprisingly, Cameron was objecting. "You_ would _, though. You…you wouldn't…_ need  _me anymore." Jonathan's frown was only worsening as his brother tried to explain himself. As his brother started to wilt more and more. "If there's no show, then…then there's no performing. There's no…switching out— there's no act." His voice was growing sadder. "You wouldn't need to…stay_ home,  _we wouldn't need to stay together. You could leave and you could…make other friends and…and you could move away somewhere far, and…" His shoulders hunched. "If there isn't a show, you wouldn't need me, you'd…_ leave _. Wouldn't you?"_

 _Jonathan looked at him sadly. "…Is that all you think you are to me?" he asked. "An_ act?"

_Cameron was silent. It was just as good an affirmation._

" _Cameron…you're my_ brother. Yeah _, we do shows, but that's not why I like being with you. I like being with you because you're funny, and even when I'm having a bad day you make me smile." The edges of Cameron's mouth twitched just the tiniest bit. Jonathan smiled big at the hint of happiness, though. "I like being with you because you're my best friend, and you make me happy. 'Cause you know all my embarrassing stories but you still like me, too. I don't like you for your baking skills…because there_ aren't any,"  _he added coyly, smiling wider at Cameron's laugh, "but I like you for all the other stuff I said._

" _We have a show, but that's not_ all  _we have," Jonathan promised. Cameron's anxiety was melting. "Even if there_ wasn't _a show,_ yeah—  _we would still be like this. We'd still be brothers. And I'd still love you just as much as I do now." The moment Jonathan said it, Cameron was lighting up. Like he'd won the lottery. Like his entire world was made, by the one little sentiment. Jonathan said it even less than Cameron did._ Whenever  _he heard it, Cameron was over the moon. Jonathan's smile turned softer. "We're stuck together, Cam," he gushed. "No matter_ what  _happens. That's never gonna change."_

_Cameron searched his face, before he prompted a tiny: "…Promise?"_

_Jonathan laughed and rolled his eyes. He plodded the few tiny steps it took to close the distance between them. And he very pointedly flopped his arms on top of Cameron's shoulders before tugging him in for a big hug. Cameron giggled, throwing his arms eagerly around his brother and squeezing him. "I_ promise,"  _Jonathan hummed. "I promise it'll always be this way; no matter_ what  _happens. Other things might change, but_ we're  _never gonna. You and me…" He tightened his grip on him. "We're always gonna be okay. I'll_ always  _be there for you, Cam."_

 _Cameron wasted no time at all before he chirped: "And I'll always be there for_ you,  _too, Johnny."_

_Later on, they'd probably end up just acting like this conversation never happened. Keeping it in their minds, but moving on so things didn't stay so sappy— Jonathan never really liked being sappy. They'd finish baking their cake, only to figure out they'd needed to cook it for about ten more minutes when Jonathan wriggled it out of the pan and the middle was still all batter-y. He'd be disappointed until Cameron started cracking up, which would slowly persuade him to grin. They'd just share the tub of frosting instead, Cameron declaring: "We should have just done this in the first place; it's just as good and much less work."_

_Later on, they would build a fort in the living room out of practically all the blankets and pillows they could possibly get their hands on. Jonathan would shine a flashlight under his face and tell ghost stories; Cameron would loudly proclaim he wasn't scared, but he would be proven false when Jonathan whirled out to grab at his arm, and he'd immediately scream. They would start Monopoly, but stop because Cameron was going bankrupt and Jonathan was getting sick of hearing him ask him how he was going to feed his wife and child, how he was going to pay the rent this month and keep his family off the streets, or talk about how he didn't have enough food to feed the dog so it died, or how the IRS had come to take his grandmother out of the spare bedroom as collateral so now what was he going to tell Grandpa, or that he had to sell one of his kidneys on the black market and he was pretty sure his other one was going into failure so now he was dead, so "Was the rent really worth it, Jonathan,_ was the rent worth it?"

_They would play cards instead, because Cameron would ask, and Jonathan was too happy to tell him no. Jonathan would win every game, like he always did, but Cameron's beam would never falter. He would be laughing and smiling and he wouldn't even be bothered by his wrist, which Jonathan would get ice for frequently without being asked. They would end up getting distracted, just laying down side-by-side and talking, forgetting about the cards and leaving them everywhere. Neither of them would even wonder where their father was, or if he would be back by the morning, or if he would be angry about the mess._

_Cameron would fall asleep first, still tired from the lack of sleep he'd had all week. Jonathan would feel relief and love so strongly it would hurt, somehow. He didn't often let himself linger on stuff like that for too long – again, he_ hated  _sappy – but he would let himself linger on it_ then _, just staring at Cameron, who'd finally had a good day. Who was finally sleeping, and letting himself smile, and he'd feel a weight lift off his shoulders. He would clean up the cards and whatever mess was left in the kitchen. He would make sure the door was locked and he would turn off all the lights. He would nudge Cameron a little, to get his head on a pillow, and he would pull a blanket over him. He would lay down only a couple feet away._

 _He would fall asleep with that smile on his face. Knowing for a fact that Cameron had asked that question because their dad had it so engrained in his head that the show was all he was good for, and that was why he'd thought once it ended Jonathan might leave. But_ also  _knowing that he never would— that even if they decided to stop the show, or even if something happened, they would still be together. He would fall asleep easy, not worried at all. Happy because of a day that had been carefree and fun, and so very relieved to have his brother back the way he was supposed to be. Promising himself that he would keep him that way— to protect him from their dad as much as he could, and be there for him as the_ one _person who valued him much more than just a magician in a show, because he knew Cameron was the only person that valued him as his own person, in return._

_That would all happen later._

_For now, they just lingered there and hugged._

_Their mutual promises hanging in the air between them._

_Cementing and solidifying them as being 'stuck together.' For whatever was to come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes Irreversible!! It's so crazy, to finally be done with this huge thing. It was my first Deception fic, and now it's my first multiple-chapter fic to end for Deception! Rationale is next.  
> Anyway, I hope I could do this ending the justice it deserved. There was a lot to do, and I agonized for ages over whether or not what I had was enough. So I hope this is a good send-off. I'm usually harder on myself than I need to be...so I hope that's the case here.  
> Nevertheless, thank you to everyone that's read this fic, it's certainly a long one! And thank you to everyone who has been so supportive and kind along the way. I hope you like the ending I put together for you, and I hope I can hear from you one last time. Thank you for reading, from the bottom of my heart <3


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